


Control Issues

by Shivani



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Humor, Drama, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 121,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivani/pseuds/Shivani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick, twisted, perverse—that would be Severus Snape. And yet, his blindly obedient little soldier boy ran away, and to guess who? (Features abused!Harry, creature!Harry, sadistic!Harry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is massively OOC, so don’t bother to flame me on that point. I don’t give out rewards for being Captain Obvious. That also goes for trying to educate me on the finer points of the after-effects of rape, torture, blah blah blah. If you manage to take this story seriously, you need more help than I do.
> 
> My e-book copies: [[azw3](http://hp.grazhir.com/ci/Control%20Issues%20-%20Shivani.azw3)] • [[epub](http://hp.grazhir.com/ci/Control%20Issues%20-%20Shivani.epub)]

A sudden intrusion into his mind had Voldemort setting down his book and going on full alert. The day might finally have arrived that Potter was trained enough to attack him directly and he did not wish to be unprepared.

He was, therefore, completely shocked when approximately five seconds later someone appeared in his sitting room, flung their wand aside, then prostrated themself before him, exposing their neck. After a half second of thought he tested the wards and found them to be sound, so he turned his attention to the figure kneeling in front of his chair, then strained his hearing when it whispered, “Please help me.”

Voldemort was quite sure he had not taken any experimental potions that morning, nor was he dreaming, so this must in fact be real. He leaned forward and reached down, taking the jaw of the person in his hand, then used that leverage to force their head up so he could see who he was dealing with. He nearly yanked his hand away in shock when he realized he was staring into the face of Harry Potter himself.

“Help you how?” he found himself asking, wondering if he was being offered one of his arch enemies on a silver platter.

“Set me free, please, sir,” Potter whispered.

Voldemort blinked and reconsidered the situation. Surely Potter was not referring to the fact that his chin was being held hostage. “Free of what?”

“Please, sir. I’ll do anything you ask of me, just set me free. Either break their hold or kill me, just don’t make me live like this any longer. I’ll beg if you want. I tried to kill myself already, and I can’t for some reason. Please help me.”

Voldemort released the young man’s chin and sat back, bewildered. According to his spy, Severus, Potter had been undergoing training for quite some time, and was a pathetic waste of time and effort. Now, how _that_ could possibly explain how Potter had managed to bypass multiple layers of wards, including ones to prevent apparating and use of portkeys, and land in the private quarters of the Dark Lord himself. . . .

He eyed Potter for several minutes; the entire time the young man knelt there unmoving, his head bowed, with his hands on his thighs. It did not escape Voldemort’s notice that Potter was decked out in the best possible combat gear that could be purchased—indeed, it looked like custom work—and was bristling with a lethal array of muggle weapons.

“What do you mean,” he finally said, “by their hold on you?”

“I’ve tried. . . . I’ve tried, I did, several times, and I can’t. I can’t even turn on them. I tried so hard to protect myself, my mind. I can’t bear this much longer. I feel like my mind is going to shatter. I waited, I schemed, until they felt safe, and then I ran, straight to you. I thought you would kill me if I asked, since—”

“Stop!” Voldemort barked, and was rewarded with a shock of silence. Potter’s voice had gone from soft to verging on hysterical, a rather frightening thing to witness. He reached out to grasp the young man’s chin a second time, then forced his head around toward a cabinet against one wall. “Do you see that cabinet?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I want you to get two things from it and bring them back here. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

“In the top portion is a collection of knives and athames. Pick one, it doesn’t matter which. In the bottom are drawers of potions. Locate a calming potion. When you have those two things, bring them back to me.” He released his grip and waited, watching as Potter slowly got to his feet and slinked over to the cabinet to do as requested.

He found himself oddly fascinated by the way Potter moved, as though he had no bones or was partly cat, and speculated briefly on whether or not the young man was an animagus. Potter returned shortly and held out the items, so Voldemort took them. The athame went onto the table next to him and he double-checked to make sure Potter had brought back the right potion, then opened it and held it out. “Drink this.”

As soon as Potter had obeyed Voldemort took the empty vial and set it aside, then said, “Bring that chair over here and sit down. We’re going to talk.” He wanted very badly to pinch himself to make absolutely certain he wasn’t dreaming. But, he thought, there was no way in hell he could possibly have a dream so strange.

Once the young man was sitting he said quietly, “I will make you a deal, Potter.” And inside he was praying he would not regret it. “I will do my utmost to help free you, whatever is within my capabilities and knowledge, in exchange for your complete, unquestioning loyalty to me. At any time, even if I _am_ able to free you, you may request your own death and I will give that to you. Do you find this agreeable?”

Potter looked a bit lost for a minute, gnawing on his lower lip, then said, “Does that mean you’d want me for what they did?”

“What do you mean?”

“To kill people, sir.”

Voldemort held back his surprise and instead said, “You may call me Tom. And as much as I would like to say yes, I will not. It would be your choice to participate directly or not in this war.” After all, so long as he had Potter’s loyalty, it would not matter much. It was one enemy out of the way, or working for him, so it was all gravy if the young man made the agreement. As it was, he was beginning to wonder if Potter was suffering from the start of a complete nervous breakdown.

“Oh. You’ll help me?”

Voldemort managed to refrain from grinding his teeth in frustration. “Yes, if you make the agreement.” Was Severus right? Was Potter actually that lacking in intelligence?

“All right. I will. Tell me what to do. I need help.”

Voldemort slid the athame off the side table, unable to make a valid comparison of this Potter to a much younger one. That one had fire, this one was . . . a kicked puppy? There must be a great deal Severus was hiding from him, and he intended to get to the bottom of the mystery.

“Hold out your hand,” he said gently.

Five minutes later they were done, and Voldemort gave an inward cheer of triumph as he spelled the knife clean and set it aside. He was confused, however, when Potter not only did not move to mend his hand, but declined an offer to do so on his behalf. But even as Voldemort puzzled over that he saw the wound heal without any outside interference, leaving Potter’s hand pristine. Right.

“May I call you Harry?”

“Yes, please.”

“Harry, I would like if you would retrieve your wand and put it away. It would not do for it to be lost. Then come back and sit down.”

“Okay,” Harry said a bit absently, then rose and immediately honed in on where he had flung it earlier. He was back in the chair within thirty seconds.

“How do you feel?” Voldemort figured he may as well start things off simply. In truth, he was at a bit of a loss given how oddly the young man was behaving.

“Confused. Lost. My head, it’s not right.”

Voldemort glanced off to the side for a second, then said, “Are you hungry?”

Harry shook his head, then frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

He was mildly surprised when Harry responded with, “What year is this?”

“2002, Harry, the twenty-second of April,” he supplied. All the colour fled from Potter’s face to be replaced with a sickly tinge of green, and the next thing Voldemort knew, Harry was on his knees a short distance away dry heaving. Not having any bloody idea what to do or how to respond, Voldemort simply sat there in silence.

Harry eventually wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, then resumed his chair. “The last time I remember eating was in 1998,” he said softly, his eyes wide and staring. “I stopped needing to use the bathroom around then, too.” He looked up at Voldemort a bit fearfully. “Am I . . . even a human anymore?”

“I would need to know more before I could begin to answer a question like that,” Voldemort said reasonably. “How good is your recollection of that time period, when you suddenly stopped needing to do those things?”

Harry slowly shook his head. “I—no, don’t ask me that. See for yourself. I can’t . . . keep it together. My barrier is starting to shatter, I think. My persona.”

Voldemort heaved a quiet sigh. “Were you tortured, Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Are you offering me access to your mind so I can see what was done to you?”

“Yes. Please help me.”

Voldemort took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. Are you going to object if I give you a potion to make you sleep for a while, Harry, so as to cut back on any mental distress you might otherwise suffer?”

“It’s okay.”

“Then I suggest you go stretch out on the couch while I get one. If you wish you can remove that gear as well, since I doubt it would be comfortable to sleep in.” Voldemort rose and headed to the cabinet, only peripherally aware of what his new . . . ally . . . was doing. When he turned back Potter was naked and stretched out on the sofa, and already had his eyes closed.

After seriously considering the idea of taking a holiday soon, Voldemort brought a chair over and situated it comfortably, then sat down and said, “Drink this. You’ll be asleep for a minimum of eight hours.” He waited a good ten minutes after Potter had knocked back the potion, until he was absolutely certain the young man was unconscious, then pushed back his chair a bit and levitated Harry so he could inspect young man’s body.

He didn’t even bother to pay attention to Potter’s physique, though it was impressive; he was looking for oddities. It wasn’t until he rotated Potter over that he found anything peculiar. There were two elongated patches, almost lines, parallel to Potter’s spine, consisting of what looked like . . . scales, of a translucent material that strongly reminded him of diamonds, and appeared to be grafted into his skin. Voldemort didn’t dare touch them directly, but it gave the young man a distinctly reptilian aspect, despite the fact that the scales were not something he would ever expect to see on a snake or other similar creature.

Shaking his head slightly Voldemort rotated Potter again and set him back down on the sofa, then summoned a light blanket to cover him with. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be natural. He repositioned his chair, settled in comfortably, then stretched his mind out along the link he knew he shared with Potter and started digging.

It was several hours later that he emerged, alternately impressed and disgusted at the things he had seen. Unfortunately, very little of it would explain why it was that Potter did not seem to have the same needs as other human beings, or indeed, most creatures. And, Severus was so bone deep in lies that once Voldemort got his hands on him he would rape the man’s mind brutally to get the information he wanted.

Severus had taken great pleasure in trying to break Potter all in the name of so-called training. Voldemort was sure that given the right recruits, Severus’s methods would actually produce the kind of soldier who would obey his commanders unquestioningly, and fight with a total lack of fear. He had seen for himself exactly what kind of killer it had turned Potter into, not only during training exercises, but also on actual Order missions.

Potter had been little more than a blur, either with his wand or muggle weapons, and could sweep through a target building in an amazingly short amount of time, leaving nothing alive in his wake, even down to the odd unfortunate mouse that wandered by at the wrong time, or bird. At least now Voldemort was certain of who had managed to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.

And as much as Voldemort might commend Severus for producing such an incredibly lethal soldier, he was not quite as pleased at his methods for doing so given that it was more a question of subjecting an innocent to years of torture that also allowed Severus to indulge in his chosen perversities, like rape. And rape he had, repeatedly, at least once a day from what he could tell, and usually preceded by a severe whipping. Apparently, Severus liked to use blood for a lubricant, and so made sure there was plenty for when he was ready to fuck his ‘student’ into submission.

Voldemort had seen plenty of evidence that Potter healed with unnatural speed, though that was not always the case. The deeper back he dug into the young man’s memories, the slower it was. About the only evidence he could see of some of Severus’s machinations was the multitude of potions he had fed Potter, though he never bothered to explain what they were for. His usual method was to stalk in, latch onto Potter’s hair and force his head back, then pour the liquids down the young man’s throat. And then he usually got out his whip for another round of fun.

One day Potter had simply woken up knowing he had changed in some way, and from that day forth no longer ate or eliminated, and Severus began his indulgences. It was also noteworthy that he had figured out what Potter had meant by a barrier or persona. Voldemort was extremely impressed by the young man’s resilience and cunning, as it was not everyone who would deliberately and knowingly force a personality split in order to protect the majority of self. It was an ingenious melding of a mental disorder and Occlumency, in fact.

And it was true that it was beginning to break down, to poison Potter’s real mind. Voldemort spent quite some time on that alone, fixing the problems he could see and assisting in keeping the barrier intact. If it was ever to be reintegrated, it would have to be done carefully, lest Potter’s mind snap completely and render him irrevocably insane.

What really stuck out in Voldemort’s mind, though, was a mission briefing he had latched onto. The door had opened into Potter’s room, which was more like a cell, and Severus had stepped in along with Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore. Severus began things by informing Potter that it was to be a briefing and the naked young man immediately dropped to his knees in front of Severus and reached into his trousers.

Voldemort had watched the memory with a certain amount of shock given that Dumbledore was there and not protesting anything. The man simply stood there as Severus lazily fucked Potter’s mouth and Moody began briefing their weapon on his upcoming mission. Once that was complete, Potter was bent over the table and whipped for about ten minutes, then Severus proceeded to fuck him raw. And still, Dumbledore said nothing. He just stood there nodding his approval at how tractable Potter was.

Potter was required to repeat back his mission and objectives once Severus had gotten himself off, and did so in a word perfect recitation, despite everything. And what really blew Voldemort’s mind was Potter saying, before Dumbledore left, “Thank you, sir, for allowing me to be trained.”

He had then been ordered to suit up, still bleeding copiously, and hauled off via portkey to their target, then sent in, alone, to exterminate every living creature in the place.

Voldemort shook his head, feeling strangely sad for a man who was, in fact, a sadistic murderer. He was greatly surprised that Potter had a mind left at all, really. He was left with the distinct impression that Dumbledore himself could have stepped up to Potter during a briefing and presented his cock, and Potter’s persona would have expertly fellated him without a second thought, then thanked him for the privilege of being allowed to be of service.

This was the weapon they had designed and created, a merciless killing machine that was nearly unstoppable, and yet, ostensibly, unthinkingly obedient to his trainers’ every whim, and by extension, Dumbledore. This was the weapon who, after he had completed his purpose, that of killing Voldemort, was supposed to return to Severus and beg to be killed so that he would no longer be a burden to anyone.

This was the weapon who had fooled all of them and escaped as soon as it was feasible, straight into the arms of his greatest enemy, and had begged for help or at least death. Voldemort found himself shaking his head again, and found himself in the unique position of wondering how it was that his enemies were more cold, more cruel, and more heartless than he could ever hope to be. To do such a thing to one of their own. . . . Obviously, he himself had not properly taken to heart his lessons on being evil if this was what the so-called Light was doing.

Well, he still needed to have a little chat with Severus. But before that, he desperately needed some sleep.

He awoke, quite a bit later, and pulled on a simple robe, then walked out into his sitting room. Potter was sitting on the sofa, fully dressed, and staring at his hands, though he looked up the second Voldemort appeared and said, “Hello.”

Voldemort swept over to a chair and sat down, then inclined his head. “How do you feel?”

Harry tilted his head to one side and said, “I feel almost . . . normal. Like I’m in control again.” He shot a piercing look at Voldemort, as though asking why.

“Part of what I did was investigate what you called a barrier, or persona, Harry. You were right, it was starting to break down. I have repaired it as best I could in the amount of time I had on hand. If necessary, I will do so again.”

Harry nodded absently, then actually smiled at him. “Should I be afraid of you?”

Voldemort blinked. “You have given me your loyalty, Harry, bound and enforced by magic. I will not harm you unless you give me good cause to do so.”

“Oh. All right. I’m sorry, I still feel a little confused. All I could think of at the time was getting away from them. I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

Voldemort shook his head slowly. “Be sure that if you become a burden I will inform you, and give you the opportunity to correct things. Now, unfortunately, I could see no real evidence that would assist us with the question of what has been done to you. I will need to question Severus most closely.”

Harry’s lip curled ever so slightly in what looked like disgust, prompting Voldemort to say, “Once I have what I need, would you like to be the one who kills him?”

Harry started to respond, paused, appeared to think that over, then said, “If I am able to, yes, please. I would like to visit upon him some of what he graced me with if possible, though perhaps it would be simpler to just snap his neck and be done with it.”

“As you wish. I feel fairly certain that an in-depth examination of Severus’s memories will turn up the answers we need. Those that would help us to understand what was done to you, and those that would explain why you feel unable to strike back at them.”

“All right. May I be present when you do this?”

“Do you feel that is wise?” Voldemort countered. “Is it possible that you are somehow compelled to protect him should he be in danger?”

Obviously that had not occurred to Harry, as a look of consternation swept over his features. “That is possible, you’re right, though I cannot say for sure. It’s never come up.”

Voldemort nodded and moved on. “Were you aware that you have scales on your back, like a snake?”

Harry immediately tried to twist around to see his back and naturally failed, then looked around the room for a mirror. He hadn’t even paused to bare his torso first.

“Stop.”

Harry turned his attention back to Voldemort questioningly.

“Close your eyes and open your mind to me,” Voldemort ordered gently, then formed an image in his mind of what he had seen, and pushed it over their link to Potter. He opened his eyes when he heard Harry gasp softly to see him lurch off the sofa.

“What the hell did that bastard do to me!?” Harry started pacing restlessly, his fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

Voldemort was once again struck by the utter fluidity of the young man’s movements, the unconscious, boneless grace. He thought about it for a while, then said, “I do not recall that you always moved like this, Harry. Memories of your younger self that I hold do not show this.”

Harry continued to pace as he responded, “Yes, I know. I have always been quick, with good reflexes, but not like this. Changes always appeared after I woke up, so I’m not sure what he did, though I guess some of it could be from the potions he forced me to take.”

Certain suspicions began to form in Voldemort’s mind, especially when he realized that he was becoming highly aroused simply by watching Harry walk back and forth. That prompted him to say, “From what I can see you had few constants in your life during . . . training. One of those things was degradation. Another was pain. The third was sex.”

Harry paused for a moment, nodded, then began pacing again, his movements becoming more erratic.

“Are you hungry, Harry?” Voldemort asked intently.

Harry stopped dead and looked at him sharply, then advanced until he was standing directly in front of Voldemort’s chair, managing to look extremely intimidating. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. But not for food. Why? What is wrong with me? You know, don’t you?”

Voldemort shook his head. “I merely suspect. I would need to either prepare the correct potions in order to be sure, or test my theory directly.”

Harry dropped to his knees, placing his hands on his thighs. “Hit me.”

Voldemort arched a brow. “If I do, you will not retaliate.”

“I will not,” Harry agreed. “Now hit me.”

Harry closed his eyes and waited, so Voldemort slapped him soundly across the face. Potter did nothing more than clench his jaw, exhale, and open his eyes. “That didn’t do a thing except make me angry. It’s a good thing I have excellent self control, else I would have done exactly that, retaliate without thinking.”

Voldemort allowed a small smile to escape at the admission. “I likewise suspect that humiliating you will produce no appreciable results except to also make you angry.”

“So, sex?” Harry looked mildly bewildered at the prospect.

“If what I suspect is true, yes.”

“But what kind of a creature feeds on—oh. Oh my god. That’s possible?”

Voldemort gave a slight shrug. “It seems so, but it will take some time to verify it.”

“Er, how long?” Harry asked in a worried voice. “He used to—well, actually, I have no idea. I usually never knew if it was day or night, so. . . . Am I going to starve to death before you can find out?”

“No, you won’t. Well, unless I leave you alone for long enough, in which case you might.”

Harry gave him a suspicious look. “What are you saying?”

“It will take several days to prepare the potions we would need. During that time, if what I remember is accurate, you will attempt to feed off the first available person when you become hungry enough. In other words, me.”

“Oh my god,” Harry repeated, then dropped his head. “I’m so sorry. If you want to kill me, please go ahead. I swear to you I won’t resist.”

Voldemort reached down with one hand and latched onto Potter’s jaw again, then forced his head up. “I think not, Harry. It would be no chore for me to take pleasure in your body, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Harry looked slightly taken aback at that.

“If you like, consider it a preliminary test. You will either come away from it sated, or not. If so, I will begin the potions for more conclusive verification. If not, we will both have to hope that I can question Severus before it is too late.”

Harry continued to look uncertain.

“Would you like me to make it an order?”

Harry snapped out of it instantly. “As I recall I swore unquestioning loyalty, Tom, not obedience. I obey because I choose to, not because I must.”

“Fair enough, but the offer still stands,” he said, then deliberately stroked his thumb over Harry’s cheek. The effect was immediate; Harry’s eyes drifted shut and he swayed closer. “Come with me,” he said softly, then nudged Harry up, and was gratified to see the young man rise to his feet effortlessly. Voldemort also rose, then led Harry into his bedroom and began undressing him, making sure to caress him frequently in the process.

And, so long as he did so, Harry did not protest, and was shortly naked and allowing himself to be pushed onto the bed. Voldemort made quick work of shrugging off his robe and slipped onto the bed as well, immediately reestablishing contact by sliding his hands along the young man’s thighs.

Harry moaned, which was surprising given how silent he had been in memory, and shifted his legs apart to give Voldemort complete access. He knew, though, that Harry had not fed with any degree of personal pleasure in years, and planned to conduct this little test with both of them in mind. Voldemort slid one finger past the tight ring of muscle at Harry’s anus and was surprised to realize that the young man was quite slick within, as though someone had already begun preparing him properly, and wondered if it was in any way connected to his suspicions about the race.

He shrugged it off for the time being, simply happy that he would not have to leave Harry in order to hunt down a lubricant, nor attempt to take him dry. And on that thought, he added a second finger and leaned in to claim Harry’s mouth, pleased that he gained an immediate and favorable response. When he felt that Harry would suffer no pain from his actions, Voldemort withdrew his fingers and shifted to kneel between the young man’s legs, breaking their hungry kiss in the process, so he could move the head of his cock into position.

Harry drew his knees up higher and arched off the bed, so Voldemort pushed forward and sank himself, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and keeping him up, then began to thrust evenly. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced and for a split second he could not believe that Severus would ever have killed this creature once his supposed purpose was done, but rather keep him locked away as his personal sex toy to abuse and rape at will.

Voldemort, of course, had no such intentions. He threw his head back and continued to stroke smoothly, then leaned forward and lowered Harry to the bed as he reclaimed his arm, all so that he could freely run his fingers over Harry’s neglected penis and scrotum. That produced an animalistic moan as the young man attempted to force his legs farther apart, so Voldemort continued his ministrations, trying to milk every possible sound out of the delightful creature writhing around beneath him, and whispering words of encouragement.

By the time Harry did reach his pinnacle and began spurting fluid over his own stomach, his skin had taken on an odd glow, which abruptly intensified as Voldemort himself obtained orgasm at the sight and helplessly rode out the convulsions as he emptied himself into Harry. It was all he could do to roll Harry onto his side as he drew free and collapsed, then pull Harry in close against him in order to rest and recover.

Several minutes later Harry yawned expansively and struggled free, then sat up. Voldemort watched as the young man looked around the room curiously, then focused his gaze on him. “Something changed.”

Voldemort remained on his side, though he did prop his head up with one hand. “Are you still hungry, Harry?”

Harry glanced off to the side as though listening to something, then shook his head. “No, actually. I guess you were right. I’m . . . an incubus?”

“Something like that,” Voldemort said simply.

“I—” Harry ran a rough hand through his hair and tried again. “How on earth is that—oh my god, and I just—” He shot Voldemort an uncertain look and asked, “Did you at least enjoy it?”

Voldemort was absolutely floored by the question. After a moment he said, “I can say with perfect honesty that I have never in my life experienced a sexual act more enjoyable. More importantly, did you enjoy it?”

“Well, yes,” Harry admitted, then ruined it by asking, “Is it supposed to be like that?”

“Yes.”

“So, that would be why I feel . . . full?” Harry raised his brows for emphasis.

Voldemort wasn’t quite sure he followed. He took a few moments to rise to a seated position, then said, “Are you saying that, perhaps, you have never felt well fed until now?”

“Er, yes.” Harry slid off the bed, completely heedless of both his nudity and the fact that his own seminal fluids were dripping down his stomach, to begin pacing again. “So, all this time, he’s been feeding me only halfway each time? He’s been deliberately starving me almost? And he never cared because it was enough, and he got what he wanted out of it, after making sure it mattered at all, and even necessary?”

Seeing that Harry was becoming agitated again Voldemort prepared to slide off the bed as well and calm the young man.

“And now, I have no choice but to prostitute myself to anyone willing to fuck me or I’ll starve?” Harry practically shrieked.

He approached cautiously, reaching out to slide his hand down Harry’s arm in a caress. The result was again immediate, with Harry stilling and swaying toward him gracefully. It worked, which meant Voldemort could easily fend off any encroaching bouts of hysteria, but unfortunately Harry also realized the implications and jerked away.

“Oh, I see. And on top of that, my new career as a whore, I don’t even have to do something like swear obedience. All you need to do is touch me the right way and I’m ready to let you do whatever you fucking please! Is that why I couldn’t hurt him? Huh? Because he was my food source and my inner incubus refused to tamper with that? Survival instincts is it?”

Voldemort considered his options as quickly as possible. Then he spoke. “Harry, I would appreciate if you would attempt to calm down. Losing your ability to think rationally will not help you, and will hinder attempts of my own to assist you.”

Oddly, it worked; Harry suddenly looked ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t be yelling at you. I just—I thought I’d finally escaped, and now I realize that part of this nightmare is never going to end.”

Voldemort felt irrationally hurt by that. “Is what we just did so unbearable, Harry?”

“No, it’s just—I cannot survive on my own any longer, don’t you see? Any other person can go live in the wilderness, grow their own food, and depend only on themselves. I can’t. I can’t ever walk away or I’ll die.”

Voldemort could see the logic in that and nodded. “May I touch you again?” he asked cautiously.

“I—yes, okay.” Harry sounded defeated.

Voldemort approached slowly and reached out, pulling Harry into a loose hug. “I promised I would help you. If you do not find my touch distasteful, then I offer myself as your food source. And yes, that is partly a selfish offer, as I will find my own satisfaction in doing so.”

When Voldemort said nothing more and made no other move, Harry slowly lifted his face and whispered, “Do you think there’s any way to reverse this?”

“I don’t know. I think our top priority is one of two things. One is to procure those potions. The other is to interrogate Severus Snape.”

Harry nodded and furrowed his brow. “Okay. Um, Tom?”

“Yes?”

“I was sort of under the impression that dark lords were busy people. Am I keeping you from running your evil empire by dumping all these problems on you?”

Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. Contrary to popular belief, a great deal of what I control runs itself. That is the beauty of picking intelligent and gifted lieutenants.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful, then said, “And to be frank, some of the things I’ve seen recently make me wonder just what’s being fought over at this point.”

“I don’t understand.”

Voldemort stepped back a bit, gently pulling Harry with him, and got them settled back on the bed. “Harry, I have watched the paragon of Light, Albus Dumbledore, stand there and nod his head approvingly as you were viciously whipped and raped. I don’t even want to think about the number of times that scene might have been repeated. If that is what the leaders of the Light consider acceptable training methods, then I’m no longer happy trying to make a difference in the world. I’d just as soon kill the bastards and retire to Tahiti.

“In less than a day I’ve actually entertained the thought that I cannot honestly call myself a dark lord, because the other side, the supposed good guys, are ten times as vicious and cruel. Prior to your leaving Hogwarts I was completely obsessed with killing you, to the exclusion of all else, which made me nothing less than a fool. And after you left, and were supposedly being trained to kill me, I sat back and took a good, long look at things, and came to the startling realization that killing every muggle on the planet will not only become boring, but excessively wearying, not to mention solve nothing.

“So, right at this moment, it seems to me that the most prudent course of action for me is to work on something that actually has some meaning. In this case, trying to figure out how much help I can give you, and then making sure a few specific people find death a lot earlier than they expected it. After that, I’m really not sure.”

Something he said was obviously amusing; Harry smiled at him. “Where are we?”

“My manor house, located within the compound which houses my headquarters. This building is a separate structure on the grounds and is off limits to my followers. Where exactly did you escape from?”

“Oh. They sent me out on another mission, but this time they weren’t watching so closely. So I ran. I opened the connection to you to see where you were, and forced my way in using you as a kind of . . . I’m not sure, a key? I don’t really understand what I did. I don’t even know where I was when I disappeared.”

“Whatever you did, it did not damage the wards, and your aim was excellent.”

Harry flashed him another smile.

“I want you to tell me if you find yourself becoming confused again, or feeling fractured. I cannot help you properly if you do not tell me you need it.”

“All right. I feel a lot better right now, though. So, I can roam around this house without causing trouble? Is it okay if I don’t wear clothes? I promise I won’t go outside.”

“Yes, you can, and yes, that is all right. And definitely yes, do _not_ leave this house. No one outside can see in, by the way. All the windows are spelled one-way. If you like I can take you on a tour, though I think we both ought to at least clean up first.”

Three days later (and after three days of the most mind-blowing sex Voldemort had ever had) the potions were ready to be used. Severus had not yet contacted him to bring the bad news that Harry Potter was missing, which Voldemort found inordinately amusing. He was starting to wonder if Severus feared for his life given the oft used refrain of, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’

“Harry, this is a two stage process,” he started to explain. “The first potion will simply tell us what we already know, whether or not you’re some sort of incubus. The second potion will give us an idea of whether or not anyone in your line held incubus blood, though there’s no point in using it if the first potion somehow comes up negative.”

“Okay.”

Voldemort had made it a point to nudge into Harry’s mind at least once a day (with permission) to check on the barrier persona and make repairs or create additional ‘supports’. While he did trust Harry to let him know if something felt wrong, he was perfectly content to be proactive about the situation. And during that time, Harry had calmed down considerably in his presence and turned into a rather affectionate companion. Whether that had something to do with Voldemort’s tendency to caress him frequently or not. . . .

He produced the first potion, double-checking to make sure the spell he had placed over the cauldron to screen out foreign matter had not failed, then nodded in satisfaction and said, “This can actually be done in two ways, and we’ll start with the most simple. I doubt we’ll need to use the second method.” He snatched a ladle off the rack behind him and scooped up a good bit of the potion, then poured it into a bowl he had waiting.

“I need you to put at least five drops of your blood in there, Harry.”

Voldemort knew from his investigation of Harry’s mind that the young man was far from stupid. He did have a brilliant mind. Voldemort could take almost anything Severus had said and reverse it to get something much closer to the truth. That was why he found it slightly disconcerting when Harry frequently communicated as though he hadn’t a brain to speak of, or acted childlike, and he wondered if it was a leak or a holdover from his ‘training’ days.

He watched as the potion mixed with the blood Harry had dripped in as though some invisible hand were stirring it, then smiled as it began to glow. For some reason, he thought he’d seen that somewhere before. “Well, that’s more or less conclusive,” he said. “According to the powers that be, you are indeed an incubus, or at least enough of one to make it react so strongly. Do you wish to use the second potion?”

Harry furrowed his brow and stared at the bowl as though it held all the answers to life. “Yeah, all right. What do I need to do?”

Voldemort brought over the second potion, checked it, then poured it carefully into a large rectangular tray. “Ten drops of blood this time,” he said, then placed a piece of parchment cut to fit on top of the mixture once Harry was done.

He spent the next ten minutes telling himself to keep his hands off Harry, who was patiently waiting for results to appear on the parchment. It seemed he would need to track down some books on the subject of incubi, especially in the event that what Severus had done could not be reversed. If Harry’s transformation was permanent, it was best he understood himself better. Voldemort had a feeling that the young man’s survival instinct was simply too well developed to ask for death again.

Eventually a list of names appeared, beginning with the most closely related that could be detected. Nothing on the list was remotely connected to Harry’s maternal family, so the potential blame lay squarely on Harry’s paternal progenitors. However, none of the names that appeared showed signs of anything other than having the potential. None of them were actual incubi. At that point Voldemort was treated to a display of Harry’s intellect.

“All right,” Harry said, running a rough hand through his hair. “According to this the potential has been in my father’s line for centuries. All we really needed to know was if it was possible, and it is. That means it’s extremely likely I had the potential myself.”

Voldemort nodded his agreement so Harry continued. “The question becomes whether or not I would have transformed naturally, or if they found a way to force it to activate. And then, I must wonder if they were aware of this peculiarity in my bloodline and decided to use it to their advantage. I know it’s possible that their methods”—Harry sneered nastily—“might have still produced what they wanted, but this also might have been the entire reason they decided on the plan.

“After all, it must be fairly inexpensive to house one person in a room no better than a cell, not have to feed them or provide facilities, and that they know can heal just about any injury quickly. I’m also sure they kept me unconscious when they wanted me out of the way, which further simplified things. So, aside from getting books on incubi, Snape is our main information source.”

Then Harry gave him a rather sad look. “You’re not going to be able to reverse this, are you?”

“I think it is very unlikely,” Voldemort said honestly.

Harry sighed heavily and edged closer, wordlessly asking for some comfort. Voldemort obliged, reaching out to smooth the hair back from Harry’s face, which settled the young man almost instantly.

In truth, Voldemort felt a bit like he was walking on the edge of a knife. Granted, he did not think Harry _would_ attack him, but given his actual training and the results of it, should he do so, Voldemort wasn’t sure he could walk away from a confrontation. He also could not be 100% positive that loyalty would prevent it. On the other hand, he could easily calm Harry with just a touch, but doing so too often meant the young man stopped thinking rationally for being caught up in pleasure. And Voldemort did not want an ally who was nothing more than a blindly obedient drone.

“Let’s return upstairs,” he suggested. “If you feel up to it, I’d like to talk about some things.”

The walk up to his sitting room was quiet, and Voldemort found himself thinking that what he had experienced thus far of the incubi nature was insidious. The better fed Harry was, the more alluring he became, and the more frequently Voldemort had to keep reminding himself to keep his hands to himself. He supposed it was some sort of survival mechanism at work, ensuring that a food source did not inconveniently wander off and would generally be available, and willing, to provide what an incubus needed to live.

He also realized that he was gradually becoming addicted to the amount of pleasure he derived from the young man’s body, and was not sure he could bear to give Harry up if it came to it. Though, on further thought, he would kill the young man if it turned out that all of this was some insanely complicated plot to subvert him into dropping his guard long enough for Harry to end his life. He could not quite bring himself to believe that, though, and then wondered if Severus was suffering from the loss of his sexual outlet.

Once there he dropped onto the couch. Harry flopped down and stretched out, placing his head in Voldemort’s lap, an open invitation to play with him, which he resisted for the moment.

“Harry, when I looked into your mind, I did so with a few specific goals in mind. One of those was to gain an overall view of what they did to you in terms of training, so I did not spend a great deal of time sorting through memories of that nature. I was more concerned with evidence of Severus’s tampering, and what you meant by a barrier. So, if you feel comfortable, would you be willing to tell me, in your words, what you think they were trying to accomplish with you?”

“Okay. Um, in the simplest terms, they wanted someone who could kill, and wouldn’t stop to moralize about it, nor disobey orders or question them. They spent a lot of time making sure I could fight either way, with my wand or weapons. Sometimes they sent me in without my wand, and sometimes they gave me a wand I’d never used before to see how much it affected my casting ability.

“It started out with just the two of them, though. Snape would beat me senseless, and sometimes fuck me, and then while I was tired and in pain, Moody would start casting at me to force me to respond. It was their way of getting me to dodge well, especially since they never let me have a wand those times, regardless of how close to unconsciousness I was. The worse I did, the worse the punishment I would get afterward.

“I guess they got what they wanted, or thought they did. I mean, my persona was created with the express intent of fooling them into thinking I was that blindly obedient, and would accept any treatment from them as deserved, and any orders, while the real me sat in a dark corner of my mind and worked on how to get myself out of that mess.”

“How did you feel when you realized that Dumbledore was fully supportive of what they were doing?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, rolling onto his side and bending his legs, so Voldemort began to lightly run his fingers through the young man’s hair.

“I was crushed, devastated. I didn’t entirely trust the headmaster as it was, but seeing him. . . . I knew right then that it could be him doing the whipping or forcing me to give him pleasure. I sometimes wonder if he didn’t simply because of his age. I wanted to choke every time I could hear myself thanking them for treating me like that.

“And Snape, well, he’s never liked me anyway. I could handle that better. He’s always hated me, taken pleasure in torturing me. That training just meant he could do so with impunity, not to mention really exercise his sadism. Moody, I don’t know. I just don’t know. Really, I’d like to pin all this on Snape and think he somehow fed them potions to subvert their wills, but. . . .”

When a full minute had passed and Harry had not continued, Voldemort said, “Severus is due to report in two days. He has not come early to inform me that you went missing. I am divided in opinion on whether or not I should see what he has to say before I knock him out and begin digging around in his head.”

Harry shifted again, this time onto his back so that Voldemort could see his face, then said, “Do you think he would neglect to tell you?”

“Well, Harry, he has been telling me for years about how pathetic and brainless you are, so perhaps so. He might think that you will come crawling back to them once you realize what you need to do to survive, ready to completely and without reserve hand yourself over to them as your masters and keepers, and truly become what you only pretended to be.”

Harry shuddered and curled up on his side again, then whispered, “Please help me.”

Voldemort ran a soothing hand down Harry’s arm. “I will help you.” Then, as a change of subject said, “Does your back ever bother you?”

“Huh?”

“I was wondering about those scales. I did not dare touch them before, when I discovered them, and cannot recall seeing Severus touch them either in memory.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t know. I would not have known they were there if you hadn’t said something. Do you think a book might explain?”

“Well, I do need to go obtain some, so now that we’ve dealt with the potions, I shall do that. Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a few hours, Harry?”

“I should be okay. You fed me this morning. I promise I won’t leave the house.”

Voldemort nodded. “Please remember that my library is open to you, as well as my personal training room.”

“All right, thank you.”


	2. Severus Snape

Voldemort walked into his house several hours later with a stack of shrunken books in his pocket. He had spent part of his time out in the compound itself, updating himself on how current plans were progressing, though none of them were particularly important. However, it upset his lieutenants if he did not make it appear as though he gave a damn. And during his outing, not one word of gossip filtered past him regarding the location of Harry Potter, or even that he was missing.

He found his ally in the training room, blood seeping out of numerous cuts, and sweat trickling down his naked body. Harry was just finishing up the total destruction of a score of golems. Though, judging by the state of the room, Harry had gone through quite a lot of sets.

Voldemort clapped softly in appreciation of such skill, catching Harry’s undivided attention, then asked, “Why are you bleeding?”

Harry looked confused at first, then answered readily enough, “You have sharp corners in this room.”

Voldemort blinked at that and took a much closer look at the room itself, finally noticing a number of places that were splashed with blood, such as the corner of a table, or an imperfect piece of molding. “Yes, I see that now,” he commented mildly, then continued, “In any case, I wanted to let you know I had returned with those books. I’m going to get myself something to eat and begin reading them, so whenever you feel like it, you’re welcome to join me and help if you wish.”

With that he turned and wandered off to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal for himself, then continued on to his sitting room to settle into a chair. The books were resized and set in a stack on the table aside his plate, and he flipped the first of them open as he began to absently eat.

Harry arrived a short while later looking completely drained and disappeared into the bedroom; Voldemort presumed he was cleaning up. Ten minutes or so later Harry reappeared and dropped into a seat, sliding the top book off the stack and began to read himself. Over time, however, he became increasingly restless, until finally Voldemort marked his page and set his book aside, then said, “Harry, if you’re hungry again, I wish you would simply tell me.”

“But—” The young man looked vaguely ashamed for some reason.

“You gave yourself quite a workout, so it is hardly surprising if you are,” Voldemort pointed out.

“I—yes.”

Voldemort got up and gently removed the book from Harry’s hand, marked the page, and set it aside. “Come with me, and I will let you feed,” he said gently, extending one hand in invitation. Harry hesitated, then gave in and took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and led into the bedroom.

Voldemort once again found it no kind of chore to push Harry down onto the bed and begin stroking the young man’s silky skin. He had found out over the past few days that preparing Harry was completely unnecessary, but generally did so anyway just to give him additional pleasure. In this case, however, he stretched out on the bed, partly supported by the pillows, so that Harry could hover over him, then take Voldemort’s cock in his mouth and fellate him to hardness.

Harry then straddled Voldemort and lowered himself slowly, closing his eyes and hissing in pleasure. Voldemort found it incredibly erotic whenever Harry slipped into Parseltongue, or even an approximation, so the young man’s hissing made him arch his hips off the bed in appreciation. Harry responded by leaning forward to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss, then start riding him, so Voldemort reached between them to coax Harry along as well toward orgasm.

And it did not take long; Voldemort had also found that the hungrier Harry was, the more quickly sex went, but that did not make it any less satisfying. Harry was shortly spasming in his arms even as Voldemort was thrusting uncontrollably into his partner and releasing himself.

He made no attempt to move once he came down from his bliss high. Harry was nestled against his chest and had buried his face in Voldemort’s neck, and that was perfectly all right with him. Voldemort drifted off to sleep feeling . . . content.

They went back to reading after they awoke, Harry once again not bothering to put on anything resembling clothing. Voldemort could not quite decide if it was out of habit, or if Harry flat out did not like them, and wasn’t _so_ curious as to actually ask.

The more he read, though, the more he became distracted. The information within the books was making it clear that Severus had probably raped Harry multiple times each day depending on how much exertion they had forced him to. It was also very likely that they frequently knocked him unconscious and awoke him shortly thereafter to completely confuse the young man’s time sense.

Severus would not have wanted to ever fully feed his captive as that would make Harry more appealing to him, which would make it more likely he would inadvertently feed the young man properly the next time. A nasty little cycle. It was far safer to half starve him, and feed him a bit more frequently in consequence.

On the other hand, some of the information was quite fascinating, and he was no longer so worried about what might happen to him personally should he touch Harry’s scales. It was more likely that doing so would cause Harry to lose control of himself and beg to be fed or taken, whether he was sated already or not. In any case, it should be safe enough to stroke Harry’s back during sex, and would probably increase the amount of pleasure the young man received, not to mention how much he gave.

He had just finished one book and was preparing to open another when Harry gasped softly and shot to his feet. A second later he was shoving a book under Voldemort’s nose and tapping the page urgently. “Did you see this? Anything like this?”

Voldemort looked down and started to read, almost instantly understanding why Severus had done things a certain way in his handling of Harry. He looked up a minute later with a grave expression and nodded.

“You did?”

“Yes, the first time I fed you, Harry. I did not—I simply wanted you to enjoy yourself as well, thinking that you would feed more easily. I did not know what that glow meant at the time.”

Harry stepped back and slumped in his abandoned chair. “I guess you’re stuck with me,” he said eventually.

“I cannot bring myself to mind, Harry,” he said honestly. “Do you?”

Harry worried his lip for some time before he ventured to say, “I am grateful that it was someone like you, Tom.”

“As opposed to one of your trainers, or even a random person off the street.”

Harry nodded. “Still, I feel kind of bad.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I understand that . . . I can’t help but respond. Anyone could have gotten me to whore myself if they’d simply approached me the right way, so none of it is really personal. It’s more about it being food for me. I feel like . . . I’m doing you some kind of disservice. I can’t feed off anyone else now and I’m totally dependant on you for my survival. I wouldn’t blame you if you got tired of it and decided to let me starve or just killed me.”

“Harry, I think perhaps you did not read far enough into the text. Having inadvertently bonded with you—I suppose our agreement might have had something to do with you feeling safe enough—I will fight to keep you. I don’t think I am capable at this point of getting tired of you.”

Harry looked up curiously and snatched the book back, his eyes flicking quickly over the printed words. “Oh,” he said in a mildly surprised tone, then set the book aside. “But—”

“If I understood that correctly, it means that some part of you, on an instinctual level, decided I was safe, and caused you to attempt to permanently bond yourself to me. I could have resisted, and did not. Yes, I believe my will is strong enough to let you starve or even kill you in retaliation for doing this, but I won’t. I had already recognized part of your insidious nature, Harry, and accepted it. And I have not been unhappy about the realization that I am becoming addicted to you.”

“Oh,” Harry repeated, looking a lot less despondent.

“On a related note, I think that this nullifies any partial claim Severus might have had on you. While I cannot be sure, I get the feeling that you’ll be able to attack him at will. I’ll know better once he reports to me.”

Harry’s lip curled into a soundless snarl. And then he sat up straight with a puzzled expression. “I wonder what happened to my friends.”

“Is that a general query?”

Harry gave him a wide-eyed look. “I don’t know. Are they okay? Did they know about any of this? Should I want them dead, too? Or are they innocent, and merely stupid enough to believe it when someone like Dumbledore says I’m off being trained and everything is just fucking peachy?”

“I get the feeling you have not seen them since that day.”

Harry shook his head. “No, not since that last train ride. I was never taken to Order meetings, either. I might have been, eventually, if they were sure I’d behave properly. I don’t know. The only people I ever saw were Snape, Moody, and sometimes Dumbledore. Well, and whoever I was sent out to kill. I thought it was a little surprising, actually.”

“Why?”

“Well, wouldn’t it make sense to see if I would behave myself around others? Wouldn’t that prove beyond question to them that I would obey my orders? That they had broken me so badly that I was their perfect weapon? Can you just see me sitting there at Fortescue’s, eating an ice cream, and saying such glowing things about Dumbledore to Ron and Hermione? And there’s Snape, lurking around the corner, ready to zap me with a jolt of electricity if I do the least little suspicious thing. I should think he’d have gotten off on it, then promptly dragged me back to my cell and gone for another round of torture and rape to celebrate his accomplishments.”

“On the other hand,” Voldemort said, “doing that would mean Severus might be forced to share your time with others. As it was, he had access to you on a round-the-clock basis. Still, I can see why you would think that. They might have eventually, if you hadn’t escaped.”

Harry made a huffing noise and slumped in his chair again.

“Once I’ve had a chance to pillage Severus’s mind, and we know if you’re free of their control, Harry, you can always toss on a disguise and visit Diagon Alley.”

That made Harry look exceptionally thoughtful, which intrigued Voldemort to no end. When he spoke, though, it wasn’t very revealing. “That makes me wonder if I even have any money left or if Dumbledore managed to clean out my accounts.”

“You can always check with the goblins.”

Harry laughed softly, surprising him again. “I can sort of see it now. Snape is already out of the way, suppose, and we know they don’t have some bizarre way to bring me under control. So there I go, visiting Gringotts, making sure people know Harry Potter is out in public, at least on my way out. And then I wander into Knockturn Alley and wait, hoping that Moody would show up to leash his dog, and pretend for his benefit to be whoring myself because I’m starving.”

Voldemort chuckled in appreciation. “And then you would knock him flat on his ass and bring him here to be played with?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said firmly. “So long as it’s okay with you, I want to be the one to hurt them, to kill them. I mean, really, shouldn’t they benefit from all that training they beat into me?” The look Harry gave him was almost coyly seductive.

Voldemort laughed outright and nodded. “As you wish, Harry. I have to wonder about other Order members that might show up, though.”

“I guess that’d depend, don’t you think? I mean, if they’re all clueless, and I hauled a few back against their will, they’re going to think to begin with that I’ve done a one-eighty and betrayed them all. But if Moody was questioned with veritaserum in front of them and spilled his guts?” Harry snorted. “They’d either react with horror and disgust, or be upset that I managed to spoil all their plans. I wouldn’t necessarily be adverse to letting innocents go if it meant they’d try to take down Dumbledore for us, but otherwise, I’d just have to kill them as well, or give them to you so your followers could indulge themselves.”

* * *

Voldemort swept off out of his house, quite sated, and headed toward the building which housed his office and audience chamber. Harry had not let him leave without coaxing him into a round of sex, even though he wasn’t actually hungry. Voldemort was not about to complain.

Severus normally reported to him in his office, so that is where he headed, and settled in to catch up on some of the paperwork awaiting him. When Severus did arrive, Voldemort did not immediately acknowledge the man, and made him wait for a good ten minutes, prostrated, before he looked up and said, “Severus, so delightful to see you. Do have a seat.”

Snape stood and lowered himself into a chair, then presented his usual blank expression to his nominal master.

“Report,” he ordered, then sat back, idly fingering his wand out of view. He was actually rather pleased that Harry had accosted him, as it meant his sometimes hair-trigger temper was pushed fairly deep beneath the surface, and it was very unlikely he would do something foolish like kill Severus out of hand.

“My lord, the Potter boy continues to be a vexing problem for the Order and their efforts to get him properly trained,” Severus began, abrupt as always.

Voldemort nearly stopped listening right then and there, but did keep half an ear open as Severus rambled on in his precise way for another ten minutes, and tried to look as though he wasn’t actually bored by what he was hearing. It was, sadly, more of the usual rubbish. When the man finally shut up Voldemort nodded and said, “I see,” then shot a dose of the cruciatus under the desk, aimed (a coincidence, surely) at Severus’s privates.

And while Severus was writhing in overwhelming pain—Voldemort had not bothered to temper the intensity of the spell—he was easily able to stand up, disarm his betraying minion, then use one of the more esoteric spells from his Dark Arts repertoire to put the man into a coma. He was feeling rather cheerful at that point.

Severus’s wand went into his pocket for safekeeping, naturally. Voldemort spent the next half hour going over every inch of the man’s clothing and body, including checking his teeth, hair, the contents of his stomach, and any other available orifices. He found one emergency portkey, and promptly stashed that away in a box in his desk, appropriately labeled. Severus must have been very sure of his position to be so lightly prepared.

A second round of scanning spells came up blank, so he thought he might have actually disarmed the man totally. No more portkeys, potions, extra wands, or anything else that might potentially be dangerous or allow the man to escape. That is, assuming Voldemort ever released him from the coma. He supposed he would have to if it was feasible to let Harry kill him personally.

And, like any evil son of a bitch with delusions of grandeur, Voldemort had a secret door in his office that led down a cramped, circular stairway (complete with brackish water trickling down the dirty stones) to a private dungeon. It was there to which Voldemort headed, Severus floating along in tow, and he was not particularly concerned with how banged up his minion got along the way.

Once there he strapped a naked Severus into one of the many available torture racks (though, in truth, it was the first time Voldemort had ever used one given that it was generally easier to just crucio people and be done with it) and forced a few potions down the man’s throat that would scramble any mental defenses Severus could still muster while unconscious.

Then he conjured himself up a squashy armchair and settled in comfortably, and began his exploration of Severus’s mind. Quite a few hours later he shook himself back to normal awareness, an odd little smile gracing his lips. He was inordinately amused by the fact that Severus was suffering quite a bit over the loss of his fuck toy, having not been able to completely resist the thrall Harry exuded.

He was actually divided over several plans of action that had sprung to mind, but knew he really ought to let Harry have his say in the disposition of his erstwhile captor. Either way, he was now certain that Harry was completely free of the man’s control, and that meant he could transfer Severus to his house, or bring Harry to his private dungeon for some play time.

On that note, he hastened off home to fetch Harry and bring him around for a visit. He was delayed only a short time while he made the effort to convince Harry to dress, then add a hooded cloak to complete his ensemble and to conceal his face.

Back in the dungeon Voldemort conjured up another squashy armchair and waved Harry into it, then sat down himself. He had even remembered to bring down a bottle of wine and a glass so he had something to sip while they talked.

“Well?” Harry asked anxiously, casting a plainly curious look at Severus.

“You are free, Harry. To put it in simple terms, he was using a combination of being your food source plus blood and sex magic to make sure you couldn’t turn on him, or those he specified. There was actually a sort of method to his madness, what with all the blood he used to draw. However, he would have to keep that up in order for it to continue working, and obviously. . . .

“In any case, you bonded to me, and that negates all prior claims on you, even one such as his. It also explains why you could not commit suicide. At this point in time, you can pretty much kill anyone you want to.”

“Okay. What about why I transformed?”

“He found a way to induce it, Harry. And no, I cannot reverse it, I’m sorry. Though, I have to admit that at this point, I really don’t want to.”

Harry nodded, not at all surprised by any of that. “The potions?”

“Those were meant for several things. Part of it was connected to the inducement, but most of them were experimental potions intended to enhance your speed, stamina, reflexes, and so forth. Also to increase your regenerative ability if possible. Your eyes were corrected in a muggle facility and they obliviated those events from your memories.”

“Okay. Anything else I should know?” Harry was aiming a rather potent glare at the unconscious Severus.

“There’s not that much more to tell. You were fed at times while you were unconscious, but I believe they stopped that when they realized you obtained almost no sustenance from it. Severus took a lot of blood, saliva, and skin samples from you as well, in order to test them and work out new potions. One of the things he was trying to do was introduce your healing ability into a separate subject, but he has not been successful.”

“Yes, but what about—I mean, was the headmaster. . . ?”

Voldemort sighed. “Evidence shows that Dumbledore was supporting this of his own free will, Harry, and Moody was not being controlled by any mind-altering substances.”

Instead of needing to be calmed down, Harry straightened up in his chair and said in a chill tone, “I see.”

“Severus had very little contact with other members of the Order. He avoided them whenever possible, in fact, preferring to report directly to Dumbledore. In any case, I have nothing much to tell you about your former friends or their possible roles in all of this.”

“Okay. I can accept that. So, what about him?”

“That depends. If you want you can kill him right now. Otherwise, we would have to decide what sort of setting you would like.”

Harry turned thoughtful and curled his legs up underneath him on the chair. Voldemort sat there without interrupting, sipping his wine. Eventually Harry looked up and said, “Well, I guess I can think of a couple of ways to handle it. But I suppose what would make me happiest would be to have him completely helpless and bound. Clothes don’t matter, I suppose, as I could always rip those off.”

Harry shrugged. “And then maybe play with his head a little, make him think I wanted a mission briefing before I’d make a move to help him, which would be a nice little catch-22. And then get down to business and start torturing him, such as slicing his dick off, making sure it’s nice and stiff, slicking it up in his own blood, then fucking him with it. Removing his voice box. Crushing his precious hands. Opening razor cuts all over his body and upending a box of leeches on him.”

Harry paused and furrowed his brow. “Or I could just kill him once you wake him up. You know, let him get a good look at me, then behead him. Send the body off to Dumbledore with a nasty little note, or dump him in the atrium at the Ministry. Having given it some actual thought, I realize I’m not all that big on long, drawn out revenge schemes. Too many things can go wrong, for one.”

“How about this?” Voldemort said. “I will move him into the center of the room and stand off to the side, cloaked in shadows, so he cannot possibly see me. You can sit or stand in front of him so the first thing he sees is you. Improvise based on how he reacts?”

A slow smile spread across Harry’s face, and he nodded. “Okay, that sounds all right. I guess it’s a good thing you made me wear my gear, then, huh?”

Voldemort nodded and returned the smile. “If you’d like to start now, we can,” he invited. “As it is, he’s already mostly set up for you.”

“Sure, okay.” Harry got to his feet and gazed speculatively at his tightly bound former professor, then watched as Voldemort vanished his chair, made a few other arrangements, then blended into darkness. Harry moved his own chair so that it was positioned directly in front of Severus and a fair distance back, then sat down and nodded.

Severus slowly came to awareness and raised his head, then barked, “Potter, why have you not released me from this infernal contraption?”

“I cannot,” Harry responded tonelessly.

“And why, Potter, is that?” Severus demanded.

“I have not been properly briefed, sir.”

Severus snarled. “Release me, Potter, and I will.” The man’s voice promised pain.

Voldemort had an excellent view of Harry’s face when it went from stoic blankness to mildly amused. “Sounds like a personal problem to me, Sevvie.”

“What did you say?” Severus responded in a deadly voice.

“You heard me. Perhaps it’s managed to escape your notice—though how that’s possible with your incredible intelligence, I simply don’t understand—but I’m no longer your personal marionette, my dear trainer.”

“Potter,” Severus growled.

Harry shrugged a shoulder carelessly and got to his feet, sliding one of his hands over his leather-clad torso in an artlessly suggestive manner. “I no longer have any use for you.”

“I see, Potter. So you’ve figured out what it is you need to live? You’ve stooped to shaking your ass like a common whore at anyone who’ll dare to fuck you? Is that it? Are you honestly so thick that you think it’s that simple? I demand you release me!”

Harry glanced down, then smirked. “You missed me, didn’t you.” He stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Severus’s partially erect penis and began stroking him. “I guess I can understand that, Sevvie. I mean, they tell me I’m an incredibly good piece of ass. I’ve even had a few offers. You know, the usual. They agree to beat me whenever they feel like it and top it off with a rousing fuck to keep me fed, and I just take it like a good little boy who doesn’t know any better. You know, just to make sure I don’t get uppity or something. Sort of like you, now I think about it.”

Severus spat in his face. Harry laughed a silvery little laugh and squeezed, causing Severus to bite back a moan of pain, then wiped his face clean nonchalantly with his other hand. “Or, is it that you get off on being bound like this, Sevvie? Come on, you can tell me,” he said conspiratorially. “I promise I won’t tell a soul. Were you secretly wishing all that time that you were in my place? That you were the one being whipped into a bloody mess and then raped? I can arrange that, you know.”

“I will make you pay for this, you insolent little wretch,” Severus threatened.

Harry laughed again and released the man, stepping back. “You’re so adorable when you’re helpless, Sevvie. Now, let’s see. Whatever shall I do to amuse myself. Hmm. I could make absolutely certain you know that you did a very good job of beating your lessons into me.” He gave Severus a speculative look.

“But, I’m not so sure. After all, each person has their own wellspring of creativity, right? It isn’t healthy to stifle oneself. And since you seem so adverse to letting me play with your cock, I’ll just have to. . . .”

Harry made a slow circuit around the frame Severus was bound to, emerging back in front of the man holding a delicate blade in one hand and a barbed cylindrical object in the other. “Now, Sevvie, I can see that you’re still very aroused, so I can only infer that you really are enjoying yourself right now. I’ll just have to help you along a little, okay? Now, see this?”

Harry thoughtfully held up the object. “If you’ve ever studied the sex life of the cat, you would know that the male cat’s penis is barbed. Going in it’s a perfectly smooth deal, but when he tries to pull out. . . . Well, I guess you can imagine how the poor female cat feels?”

Severus began struggling futilely, against all reason, finally accepting that there was no way on earth he could get his former toy to obey him.

Harry aimed a sickeningly sweet smile at the man and said savagely, “Suffer for me, as I suffered for you!” 1

Then he swiftly skipped behind Severus and forced the impromptu dildo up the man’s unprepared ass. “There we go,” Harry trilled cheerfully. “But that could hardly have hurt. To make it interesting, let me just go ahead and attach these chains. You know, the ones with the weights on them? The ones that will slowly drag that thing back out of your ass and rip you to bloody shreds in the process?”

Severus was going a bit mad in his bindings, still to no avail, and Voldemort was really amazed at how well Harry was handling himself, not to mention his captive. A minute later Harry slinked back around to stand in front of Severus, another sweet smile gracing his lips.

“And, oh yes, I still have this, don’t I?” Harry examined the blade he was holding carefully, as though looking for any imperfections. “I wonder. If I start using this on you, will you struggle some more, and will that mean you’ll be able to expel that little toy more quickly? I think we should find out.

“Oh, and if you spit on me again, Snivellus, you will regret it,” he said coldly, then stepped forward and started slicing precise, thin lines into the flesh of Severus’s chest. “I’m perfectly prepared to hack off that lovely penis of yours and make you choke on it, darling, so if that appeals to you, do go ahead and provoke me.” Harry reached up to caress Severus’s face almost tenderly, then went right back to carving up his skin.

Severus was a quivering mess of blood within a few minutes and was moaning in constant pain, though he was trying very hard to stay perfectly still. Harry must have decided he was just about done amusing himself, as he turned his head to the side and said, “Was there anything you wanted to add, Tom?”

Severus jerked his head up and over, then immediately groaned in pain and renewed fear as Voldemort stepped out of the shadows with a pleased smile on his face. “I think you’re doing an excellent job of torturing him, Harry. It was about time this dungeon was christened.”

“Truly?” Harry asked eagerly. “I’ve never had the chance before. They always wanted me to just kill people quickly. A bit disappointing, really, don’t you think?”

“It does show a decided lack of imagination on their parts, Harry. Now, why don’t you go ahead and finish this up, and then I’ll feed you.”

Harry actually bounced in place like an excited child for effect, then turned back to Severus, who was watching them with a sort of horrified fascination in spite of the amount of pain he must be in. “Well, sorry, Sevvie, but I’m going to have to cut this short. I could really do with a snack, and Tom is _so_ good about feeding me properly. Why, I wouldn’t dream of saying no to him. Your happiness is nothing compared to my needs, so I guess this is where we say good-bye.”

Harry cocked his head to the side briefly, then stepped forward and plunged his long knife into Severus’s abdomen and twisted, hauling it back out and dragging the man’s entrails with it. Then he plunged the knife back in a bit higher, aiming for the heart. But for good measure, just to be sure, he slit Severus’s throat from ear to ear, stepping back quickly as the blood began to spray.

Voldemort wanted to laugh when Harry looked at him and asked, sounding rather dismayed, “Do you know any good spells to get blood out of leather?”

He made Harry wait, though, until after the blood had stopped spurting, then directed him to completely behead the man. The last thing he wanted was some upstart bringing his former minion back as an Inferius. Once that was taken care of and the remains were placed in stasis for the interim, Voldemort helped Harry back into his hooded cloak, escorted him to the house, then ushered him upstairs and into a hot shower.

Only once they were both squeaky clean did he tumble Harry onto the bed and ravish him, drawing out the encounter for as long as possible before succumbing to a blindingly powerful orgasm after Harry had found his own release.

* * *

“So, how do you feel?”

Harry gave him a bright smile. “Well, I wasn’t really kidding about the whole revenge thing, but I have to say, that was satisfying. I never expected to feel any kind of pleasure in torturing someone, or killing them. Have I gone mad?”

Voldemort eyed him for a moment, then said, “I suppose that depends on how you define things. If I presented you with a complete stranger five minutes from now and said you could play as you wished, what would you do?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I think I’d wander off. I mean, what would be the—oh, I see what you mean. Maybe I’m not crazy, then, just a bit pissed off and vindictive.”

Voldemort nodded. “I would agree. No matter how far above their origins mankind would like to believe they have risen, some things are extremely unlikely to be eradicated, Harry. And I find it difficult to believe that you will suddenly decide that killing people for no particular reason is a nice hobby to take up.”

“But I can still kill Moody and Dumbledore.”

“Of course. And anyone else who was in on the plan to break you. Far be it from me to stand in the way of some well deserved retribution.”

Harry furrowed his brow again, then gave him a peculiar look. “Maybe I am mad. After all, shouldn’t I be wanting to rend you limb from limb for killing my parents?”

Voldemort blinked. “Well, when you put it that way. . . .”

“Don’t misunderstand me—I don’t think I could at this point. Still, I should think I’d hold a grudge or something. As it is, I look at you and want to cuddle, or snuggle up on your lap.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Chalk it up the the bond, I suppose, or the past few years, Harry. Perhaps both?”

Harry shrugged and curled up in his chair sideways, resting his head on the arm. “What happens if I don’t have any money now?”

Voldemort gave a shrug of his own. “I will take care of you if you wish. I have plenty of money, in both worlds. Otherwise, you’ll simply have to figure out some sort of job you’d like to do.”

“Huh, all right. What shall we do with the body?”

“I haven’t decided. We could send it back, but that would be a rather blatant statement and could cause people to feel a bit antsy or paranoid. They might even suspect you had something to do with it. After all, you did spend rather a lot of time with that knife.”

Harry crinkled his brow. “Should I have not done that?”

“I suppose we could heal him up before shipping him out. Otherwise, I think certain people are going to become suspicious if they see reports that the words ‘you reap what you sow, you sodding rapist’ are carved into his chest.”

“Oh. Next time I’ll just do nice patterns. Well, if I feel the need to. I’ll just let you decide what to do with him. Is that okay?” Harry cast a vaguely anxious look at him.

“It’s fine,” Voldemort assured Harry. Quite frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if his adorably kittenish little incubus (not that Harry was actually little) ended up romping his way through half the people in positions of power before he reached the end of the conspiracy against him, totally doing all of Voldemort’s work for him. He might even be able to retire before the end of the year, taking Harry away with him to a nice island somewhere to live a life of indolent luxury. Harry might even be interested in having a child; it was something to consider for later on.

“Have you come to any conclusions insofar as Gringotts is concerned, or even how you might tackle Moody?” Voldemort asked.

“Well, you’ve said I’m free, so I don’t see any particular reason not to sneak into the bank and see if the goblins can help me. I guess if there’s nothing left I can live with that. It can’t possibly cost you that much to take care of me, though I suppose I ought to consider buying some clothes. I can’t wear my gear all the time when I go out.”

Voldemort nodded. “If, when you go to Gringotts, you do learn that you’ve been completely wiped out financially, just tell me. I will provide the funds for your new wardrobe, and anything else you might want. Also, when we do have Moody here for our amusement, Harry, I will try to teach you the proper way to extract information. For example, once I had Severus in a coma I fed him several potions to render useless whatever mental defenses he had left. Then I entered his mind in a not dissimilar way to Legilimency and began sorting through his memories with certain goals.”

Harry lifted his head for a moment, then lowered it and said, “Is that so I could see for myself? So that I wouldn’t have to bug you with questions on what you were able to find?”

“In part, yes. It’s not that I think you would distrust my word. I do think it would be useful for you to know how to do this yourself. That way, should you have need of the technique, and I’m not available for some reason, you would not have to wait.”

“I like that,” Harry said unexpectedly.

“Sorry?”

“I like that,” he repeated. “I appreciate it. You . . . really do seem to want me to be me and help me keep learning and. . . .” Harry uncurled and sat up, though one leg was kept tucked underneath him. “I get scared sometimes, that what I did will . . . take over, and I won’t be Harry any longer, I won’t exist. And I’m so grateful that you’ve helped me stay sane and—”

Voldemort opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut as Harry began flailing his hands around wildly.

“No, no, no. Don’t tell me something like it’s all right and so on and so forth. I know, I understand. I just—I know I need help, that what I did was really dangerous, and I might not ever be able to fix it, but—I’m not comfortable talking about this, and I don’t want to talk about it. I just feel like . . . I ought to at least once, or maybe I need to, and need to know you’ll keep helping me, please, because I don’t want to lose my mind and I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

Voldemort hesitated, and when it seemed as though Harry really was done, said, “Yes, Harry, you have my word.”

Harry exhaled heavily and said, “Okay,” then got to his feet so he could crawl onto Voldemort’s lap and press up against him, burying his face in Voldemort’s neck.

Voldemort brought up his hands to loosely encircle Harry’s waist and sat there simply luxuriating in the feel of the warm body so trustingly and willingly snuggled up against him. And were it not for the actual gravity of the situation, he might be tempted to feel amusement over the fact that anyone, not just Harry Potter, was looking to the Dark Lord for help and comfort. But, it was obviously a heavy weight on Harry, the fear that his persona might shatter, or somehow take over, and render his sense of self completely nonexistent.

And then Harry spoke again, his tone breathy and ever so slightly mischievous. “But, I find I don’t mind at all when you play with my scales and make me melt inside and lose control and practically beg you to take me. I rather enjoy that, actually.”

“Really,” Voldemort murmured, then swept his hands up Harry’s back so he could glide his fingers over the cool, hard scales to either side of the young man’s spine in a deliberate and delicate way. Harry responded by flattening himself against Voldemort and trying to force his knees farther apart, even as his hips rocked in time with the fingers stroking him.

Voldemort kept up his gentle torture until Harry began mewling against his neck and whining piteously, at which point he shifted forward until he was sitting on the edge of the cushion, then urged Harry to unfold one leg and wrap it around his waist instead, and then the other.

He continued to stroke Harry’s back as he pushed to his feet, using his other hand to make sure his writhing burden did not slip, then walked a few steps and gently lowered Harry to the sofa. “Yes, my sweet Harry,” he murmured, “I will take very good care of you.”

* * *

1 Line derived from: “Suffer for me!” — Albedo, Xenosaga.

Associated Snapshot: [Humble Servant](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205211)


	3. Mad-Eye Moody

After some experimentation Voldemort realized that he could take a kind of back seat in Harry’s mind and see through the young man’s eyes, hear with his ears, and so forth. And if he exerted himself, as he had done once before years ago, he could completely take over and control Harry’s body as if it were his own. That knowledge made it easier on his nerves when his mate (as he had begun calling Harry in his thoughts) decided he was ready to brave a trip to Gringotts.

It was true that Voldemort could have simply accompanied Harry, but he had his own work to do, and did not want to give the impression, nor make it a reality, that Harry needed him there physically for some reason, as though Harry was incapable of standing on his own two feet. Therefore, he settled into that back seat for a vicarious ride.

And Harry did slip into Gringotts with very little fuss, despite the fact that he was wearing another hooded cloak which concealed his identity. It might have had something to do with the fact that the cloak he was wearing was a buff sort of colour, and could hardly be considered threatening. Underneath it, though, was his combat gear, and even without it Harry was and would be devastatingly lethal if provoked.

As it turned out, Dumbledore had been leeching off Harry’s accounts in order to ‘fund’ the young man’s training. Voldemort had snorted over that and could immediately sense Harry’s agreement with his reaction. Other people, Order members, had probably been enjoying Harry’s inheritance while he had been denied access by circumstance.

It wasn’t all bad news; Harry still had tons of money awaiting him, and quickly informed the goblins that no one was to have access to his accounts except himself, regardless of who, and regardless of reason, rationalization, or justification.

On the heels of that decision he hired one of them as his account manager and negotiated a very generous contract for the salary of said goblin, making it very clear that he was being so kind because he expected his accounts to remain inviolate from that point on, and his new manager deserved to be rewarded adequately for his loyal service.

Harry walked away from the bank with a sack full of galleons, new keys (the old ones having been rendered useless nearly immediately), and the intent of doing a bit of shopping. Just because he didn’t eat food like other people did not mean there weren’t plenty of things to waste his money on, like clothing he often wouldn’t wear.

And so he rode along as Harry strolled into Madam Malkin’s and began perusing the racks, then allowed himself to be drawn into an intense discussion of what he was interested in purchasing that day. Voldemort made some suggestions of his own to be helpful, but largely stayed out of it, curious to see what Harry would decide on by himself.

His mate left a short time later, promising to return when his order was complete, and wandered off to check out the latest in brooms at the quidditch shop, though he did not actually enter, then slinked off to investigate any number of interesting sights and places—the sort of thing he had not been able to do for years.

As he was walking toward Knockturn Alley to browse through the more unmentionable things one might find, Harry had the exceptional fortune to spy Mad-Eye Moody and casually arranged to sidle up behind the man, still in his very non-threatening guise, and attempt to determine whether or not the man had picked up on the fact that Harry was actually out in public.

Moody was muttering under his breath; it seemed he was aware, and was making plans to be there when Harry would have to return to pick up his new clothes. Voldemort got the distinct impression that the man was confident he could handle Harry on his own, which Harry agreed with, though neither of them could fathom why the man would hold that belief.

After all, if an on-the-loose Harry was shopping, of all things, did that not suggest he might not be in as much distress as they would have predicted? Or was it that Moody thought that a desperate Harry would attempt to blend in better so as to more easily find food. That would not explain the amount of time it had taken for Harry to appear in public, though, unless the man was of a mind to believe that it had taken a few days for Harry to shake off his conditioning enough to actively seek out more normal avenues of action.

Voldemort mentally shrugged and Harry echoed that. And after a brief, not exactly verbal discussion, Harry sped up enough to slowly bypass the retired auror, still headed in the direction of Knockturn Alley, and make damn sure his face was seen by at least one passerby. She reacted just like a good little cat’s paw and breathed out his name, very probably loudly enough to alert Moody and spur him into actively paying attention to what was around him with that blasted magical eye of his.

Harry kept right on walking, gracefully making his way through the crowd and into the bastion of darkness, his eyes at once seeking out every doorway, hiding spot, and possible ambush point. A few seconds of his time brought him deeper into the alley, where his cloak stood out as being drastically inappropriate, then he drifted to a stop just at the entrance to a short cul-de-sac.

A quick glance into it revealed nothing and no one to worry about, so Harry turned so he could see back from whence he came, and sure enough the characteristic sound of a wooden leg striking the ground could be heard getting closer. Harry smirked and took up a casual position leaning against the wall, then waited, looking for all the world as if he was scouting out feeding opportunities.

Moody came into view less than a minute later, pausing only for a split second before he oriented on Harry. Harry, for his part, took notice of the new arrival, shrugged, then went back to his search. Moody finally came to a stop near him, but not too close, and said, “Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”

Harry turned his head at the sound (and Voldemort could feel the blankness that settled in as his mate’s expression), then looked Moody up and down appraisingly. “You’re too old,” he said in a dismissive tone, “I can’t use you. Go away.”

“Potter, you will come with me right now,” Moody said. “I don’t know how you managed to run off like that, but the answer to that can wait until later.”

Harry frowned and arched a brow. “I said you’re too old. Now go away before I attempt to feed off you anyway.”

Moody paused at that, then said slowly, “You’re hungry, boy? Come with me and I’ll make sure you get fed. Someone young, perhaps? Healthy, vigorous?”

Harry pushed away from the wall and acted quite a bit more interested. “You’ll provide me with food?”

“All the food you can handle, boy,” Moody said, trying to make his gravelly voice sound coaxing. “You just need to come with me.”

“Really,” Harry said. “You’re certain of this.” He reached up to push back his hood and reveal his face fully, palming an inconspicuous portkey at the same time.

“Yes,” Moody said simply, taking a step closer.

Harry relaxed even further, taking a step forward of his own, and reaching out that same hand. “Food?” he whispered, sounding faintly desperate. “I’m so hungry.”

And then Moody made a rather silly decision given his legendary paranoia and reached out to take Harry’s hand, thus activating the waiting portkey. A few seconds later they were both standing in Voldemort’s private dungeon. Voldemort hastily pushed back from his desk and made for the secret door, keeping one eye mentally on what Harry was doing. By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase Harry was standing over an unconscious Moody, a smug little smile on his face.

“Well done, Harry,” Voldemort said. “Granted, it helps when they aren’t too bright, but still, that was a masterful performance on your part. I’m quite proud of you.”

Harry flashed him a blinding smile and looked back at his former trainer. “I shudder to think what he’ll look like once he’s stripped,” he commented absently, then stepped back and wrinkled his nose.

Voldemort chuckled and nodded his head. “Even so, he must be searched just as carefully as Severus was.” He whipped out his wand and prepared to do just that.

A half hour later Moody was bound to a spare torture device; they did take a moment to spell Severus’s over to one wall so it was out of the way. Voldemort left long enough to procure the potions they would need, forcing them down Moody’s throat when he returned, and then conjured up two comfortable chairs for them to use. “All right. Now, Harry, this is what I want you to do. . . .”

They had not even been at it long when Harry was pushed past the point of reason and into a dangerous state of violent agitation, so Voldemort pulled his mate to him and kissed him passionately, knowing it would derail Harry’s present desire to start killing indiscriminately at the depth of betrayal they had just uncovered. It wasn’t until several minutes later that he pulled away slightly.

“Harry,” he said gently, “rational thinking, please, and self control. You’re not going to gain any true satisfaction if you act in a blind rage. If you would like me to continue this investigation alone, that will be all right. I don’t mind.”

Harry made an odd noise in his throat, one that Voldemort interpreted as an expression of deep emotional pain, then nodded.

“Perhaps you might consider spending some time in the training room?” Voldemort suggested. “I think that would be a safe way for you to work off your anger and aggression. If you prefer to wait here, though, that’s perfectly fine. Or, you could return to our room and take a sleeping potion.”

Harry’s expression turned to one of helpless indecision and he began fidgeting restlessly, so Voldemort made the decision for him. “All right, Harry. Let’s go back to the house for now,” he said and pulled the hood of his mate’s cloak up to conceal his face, then began leading him out of the dungeon.

Harry was docile enough during the brief journey, though Voldemort could not help but feel as though the young man was like a tightly compressed spring just waiting to explode. He led his mate to their sitting room so he could fetch a potion from the cabinet, then into the bedroom and undressed him, knowing that would help to settle him a bit. “Are you hungry?” he asked, wanting to be certain that was not part of the problem.

Harry shook his head.

“Will you take this sleeping potion for me?” he asked, holding up the vial.

Harry took it without speaking and opened it, knocking it back quickly and tossing the empty vial aside.

“All right,” he said, guiding his mate over to the bed and getting him settled. And then he waited until he was sure Harry was unconscious before entering his mate’s mind to see if any damage had been done to the barrier that he would need to repair. There was none, which was a good sign, so he extricated himself, smoothed the hair back from Harry’s face, then returned to the dungeon to finish things up.

He could hardly fault Harry for his reaction. After all, it was a bit shocking to find out that half the Order had been in on and approved of what had been done to his mate. Voldemort was really quite curious to see just exactly how Harry would end up dealing with them, especially people like Lupin, Granger, and the youngest Weasley male.

Moody was frequently in attendance at Order meetings, so Voldemort was able to get a very good idea of exactly who the lucky folks were that had just been added to Harry’s list of people to have a chat with, plus see the useless, fluttering distress over the fact that Severus had gone missing. That made him feel very tempted to do a bit of creative carving himself, but not until after he had erased any evidence of Harry’s own words from Severus’s chest.

His perusal of Moody’s memories also ensured that Voldemort knew where most of the Order members resided, which was quite a coup, and Moody had some knowledge of their defensive warding, which definitely did not hurt. Voldemort stopped long enough to fetch some supplies so that he might take notes, and then continued digging.

He made absolutely certain he was back at the house before Harry would wake up. Voldemort preferred to be sitting there just in case, ready to soothe him with a touch if need be, or simply talk if the rest had succeeded in letting Harry’s subconscious mind work through some of his anger and pain.

As it was, Harry’s eyes fluttered open and immediately sought out his. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly.

“I have a list of names, _and_ for some notes on where they live, plus some information on warding. I also noticed that Order headquarters appears to be within the home of former supporters of mine.”

“Yeah. But, I think . . . only one was marked? Uh, Regulus?”

“Correct. I feel compelled to wonder if a certain portrait I noticed would be of any use to us.”

Harry furrowed his brow for a moment. “I don’t think you’re talking about Nigellus, so I guess you mean Mrs Black?”

Voldemort nodded. “What do you think?”

“She probably would if it was for you. Well, unless something has drastically changed since the last time I was there. I doubt Nigellus would ever help. He’s partially bound simply because he’s a former headmaster and as far as I know, Dumbledore is still headmaster at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, he is. Still, he was a Slytherin, Harry, and one shouldn’t underestimate that. He may be loyal as a former headmaster to a present headmaster, but our thrilling little war has absolutely nothing to do with the school. Nigellus can be as loose-lipped and deceitful as he wishes when it comes to anything not related to Hogwarts.”

A slow smile brightened Harry’s expression. “That’s downright sneaky thinking.”

Voldemort smirked and nodded again. “Naturally, Harry. We do have a reputation to maintain. However, it would be easier to see if Nigellus would ever consider being a snitch via Mrs Black, and to do that you would have to sneak into that place. Even though I can derive the location from past knowledge, I would not be able to actually see it from the outside, nor enter.”

“How important do you think it would be?” Harry countered.

Voldemort shrugged. “That depends. The impression I received was that Black cannot leave her frame, so she is of limited value as far as a source of information, though I suppose people might be foolish enough to chatter in the front hall, or loudly enough nearby for her to hear.”

“I don’t know if he’s in the same place he was,” Harry said, “but Nigellus was in one of the bedrooms.” He snorted softly. “The bedroom they always made me use, actually. I know he could move freely between Hogwarts and the house, but I don’t know how much lateral freedom he had. There weren’t a lot of portraits there, but I might not be remembering right.”

“Well, for the time being it may not matter. So long as we have a steady supply of Order members to plunder, we’ll have fairly timely and accurate information. If it starts to look as though we must attempt to subvert them, we can revisit that particular idea.”

“Okay. So, you have names, some locations, and some warding specs?”

“Correct. Would you like to start going over that data, or. . . ?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m a bit hungry, and I still feel wound up.”

Voldemort arched a brow and considered, then said, “Then now might be a good time for you to visit the training room, and once you’ve exhausted yourself I can feed you fully. If you want a small snack first, though, I’m perfectly all right with that.”

Harry’s gaze flicked off to the side, then back, and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Maybe just a little snack,” he said softly as he sat up and threw back the covers. Harry slipped off the bed so that he could kneel before the chair Voldemort was in, then reached up to almost reverently free Voldemort’s cock from his trousers so he could take it in his mouth and begin to move his head smoothly.

Voldemort relaxed into the chair’s embrace and closed his eyes, content with Harry being in control and with being coaxed and sucked and teased with fingers into an orgasm that was not quite as intense as normal, but was still very satisfying for him. He did not open his eyes until Harry had gently tucked his spent member back into his trousers, but when he did his mate had a sweet smile curving his lips.

“I’ll be sure to spend enough time in there to give you a chance to recover, Tom,” Harry said a bit saucily and rose, stooped for a moment to drop a kiss on Voldemort’s lips, then sauntered off.

Voldemort was once again struck by the odd dichotomy Harry represented, and all he could do was shake his head slowly in bemusement. 

* * *

It wasn’t until several days later that Harry had decided what he wanted to do with Moody, and Voldemort had been able to make the proper arrangements. So it was that when Alastor came to awareness, the first thing he saw was his daughter, naked, bound, and cruelly gagged a short distance from him. Or so it appeared. Voldemort did have the odd Death Eater who simply would not learn their lessons, and had graciously provided one to play a certain role in the upcoming spectacle. After all, he had been planning on killing the woman anyway, so she might as well be of some use before then.

Moody let out a strangled cry and began struggling desperately against his own bonds, then stilled abruptly when Harry caught his attention by laughing softly. “What have you done!?” he demanded.

Harry stepped forward and shrugged, sliding one hand down the girl’s back to gently pat her on the ass. “Well, my dear trainer, I thought I’d give you a little treat. After all, you spent _so_ much time seeing to my own welfare, and at that, you never really did get a chance to have the same kind of fun Sevvie did.”

Harry let his hand trail back up along the girl’s spine as he stared intently at Moody. “To that end, I went to a _great_ deal of trouble to set this up, and make sure you were comfortably trussed in a way that will make this a lot easier. You see, I always wondered if you never touched me like Sevvie did because you were too old. Can’t get it up, darling? I can fix that for you, and I will.

“As for her, I reckoned it would help drive the point home for you to see how it makes you feel to watch someone you care about being treated like I was. Or, in this case, actively participate. So, this is what we’re going to do,” Harry said patiently, taking a moment to playfully tweak a lock of the girl’s hair, then pat her on the cheek.

“I order you to release me! You’re supposed to obey me, boy!”

Harry frowned slightly and brought a hand to rest on his hip. “You’re not all that bright, are you? This is called payback, darling. Revenge. And in just a few minutes, I’m going to make damn sure you _can_ get it up, because you’re going to take the part of Sevvie in a little play I’ve scripted out, while your sadly innocent daughter will get the privilege of being me.”

And having said that, Harry quickly cast a spell to silence Moody, not wanting to be further interrupted while he was being so damn nice to explain things. Then he sauntered over to a rack against one wall and spent a minute contemplating the offerings; eventually he selected a whip and sauntered back to the girl, trailing the multiple strands over her back. And then he stepped into position and began whipping her mercilessly, making a bloody mess of her back, ass, and even her thighs.

Moody was quite affected by the scene, and definitely by the tears that were streaming ceaselessly down the girl’s face, and struggled even harder in a futile attempt to get free and protect her.

After the blood was flowing quite freely Harry tossed the whip aside with a satisfied smile and turned his attention back to Moody, slipping a thin metal rod from his gear and holding it up. “This, darling, is what will make sure you’ll be able to shove that useless cock of yours into your own flesh and blood. And due to the sheer beauty of construction for that rack you’re presently bound to, I can direct your every move. It’s a lot more fun than using the imperius curse, I think. You don’t get to escape into that nice floaty feeling this way.”

Voldemort was having a hard time not laughing at Harry’s antics, and felt renewed pleasure at his mate’s creativity when it came to torturing his enemies. He watched as Harry stepped up to Moody and crouched, then forced the rod up Moody’s urethra, essentially rendering him “hard,” especially after a tap of his wand made the rod expand.

“Did you enjoy that, darling? Does it make you feel like a real man again?” Harry asked absently as he stepped out of the way so that he might use his wand to direct both occupied racks into position. Once Moody was nearly up against his ostensible daughter Harry firmly grasped the man’s bleeding cock, slathered more blood on it from the wounds of the girl, then pressed the head against the girl’s anus.

“I really, really hope you enjoy this, darling. I know I will.” Harry giggled madly and flicked his wand again, this time to direct the movements of Moody’s frame, then watched avidly as the man was forced by his bindings to rape his daughter. And as an afterthought, he cast a spell to prevent Alastor from keeping his eye closed.

Harry let that go on for several minutes before he decided that Moody needed a little something else to contemplate. He flicked his wand and directed Severus’s rack out of the shadows to rest directly in Moody’s line of vision. “As you can see, darling, I had loads of fun playing with Sevvie earlier. I’d let you talk to him, but he completely lost his head at one point so I’m afraid he’s not feeling all that well. Still, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to take comfort in his presence, so there you are.”

Another few minutes passed by; tears began to slip free from Moody’s only eye, and Harry obviously felt that was a signal to move things along. He stepped over and slid one hand down to cup Moody’s scrotum, then made a tsk’ing noise. “My, my, not even a little bit tight. Could it possibly be that you aren’t getting off on this, darling? Could it possibly be that you’re even now regretting you ever agreed to that nefarious scheme to train me? I’m sure your daughter regrets it. Or are you thinking it’s a shame you didn’t beat me yourself?”

Harry removed his hand and directed the frame to force Moody to thrust harder and more quickly, then retrieved the whip he had cast aside and started flaying the girl again using the same rhythm, laughing the entire time in a sick mockery of humor. But he did eventually grow tired of his little game and drop the whip at his feet, then move to stand at the girl’s head.

Voldemort checked the time, knowing they could not unduly prolong things because of the polyjuice, and smiled when Harry lifted his gaze and stared into the shadows. “Tom? What do you think? Has he suffered enough yet?”

Moody stiffened in his bindings as best he could as Voldemort stepped into the light. “Once again, Harry, I must commend you on your technique. These people obviously didn’t value or appreciate you. Why, it’s practically criminal that they never let you play or express yourself freely.”

Harry smiled sweetly and bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, then glanced at the girl, totally ignoring Moody. “You know, I think she’s just about fucked out, Tom. I should probably be kind and just kill her.”

Moody attempted to protest that strenuously, so Harry removed the silencing spell and said, “Did you have a suggestion, darling?”

“I don’t care what you do to me, just don’t kill my baby girl,” Moody said in great distress.

“Yes, she certainly is _your_ baby, isn’t she. Such a good daddy to make sure your daughter gets in one last good fuck before she dies. Why, maybe I should nominate you for father of the year?”

“Potter, please!”

“Well, perhaps not. It isn’t like she’s had an orgasm or anything.” Harry tapped the side of his face, smearing himself with blood. “Well, I have to kill _someone_ , darling. If I can’t kill her, then I guess that means you’re volunteering?”

“Yes! Just let her live!”

Harry aimed a bright smile at the man and nodded. “Sure! I can do that. But, you’re going to keep right on fucking her while you die, old man. You know, die in harness?” He giggled at his own joke before replacing the silencing spell and tucking away his wand in favor of a long cord produced from his gear. After running it through his hands for a moment Harry slinked off behind Moody’s frame and looped the cord around the man’s neck, then slowly garroted him.

And before Moody finally did die, Harry whispered, “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take very good care of your baby girl, like you did for me.” The cord was looped back up and tucked away, then Harry looked at Voldemort expectantly.

“Are you hungry, my sweet?” Harry nodded and edged closer, so Voldemort got out his wand and cast a quick killing curse on the nearly dead girl, then put both bodies in a stasis similar to that of dear Severus. Granted, a dungeon really ought to have a certain ambiance, but he wasn’t all that keen on having the bodies actually start decaying just yet and stinking up the place. “All right, Harry. Bring your hood back up and we’ll go home. I’ll tidy up here later.”

* * *

“I think your handling of the situation was appropriate, Harry.”

“Well, I wanted him to feel something other than just physical pain, Tom. After all, these people broke my trust, tried to break my mind and spirit, and certainly broke my heart.” Harry snuggled up closer and kissed Voldemort’s neck. “I mean, maybe you’re right. I don’t think I am really the type for casual killing, or even a cruel person. Not normally, anyway. But I have to admit that getting revenge is rather satisfying for me. And if they hadn’t have done all that, I would probably be more likely to empty my stomach at the very idea of what I’m willing to do now.”

Voldemort stroked Harry’s back, careful to avoid the scales. “If at any time you would prefer that I serve justice on these people, simply say so and I’ll handle things. Otherwise, I’m perfectly happy to continue assisting you in your endeavors.”

“I will,” Harry said. “I was thinking I might track down my dear friends Ron and Hermione next. It’s been ever so long since I’ve seen them.” Then he sat back and gazed at Voldemort shrewdly. “In any case, I’m sure you are happy to help. While I know there’s a lot more to it than this, I am aware that it simplifies things for you, what with me picking off members of your opposition in my own personal vendetta.”

Voldemort smiled broadly. “Yes, that is true. But given that I have become hopelessly addicted to you, my sweet, I am equally happy for your sake alone.”

Harry smirked at him and nodded. “That’s about what I thought. I had an idea, by the way, for Sevvie.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t you think it would be really thoughtful of us to make sure Dumblefuck gets his little peon back? I thought, if you liked the idea, that we could ship him off to Hogwarts via portkey. You know, perhaps during a meal? Wouldn’t it be fun to have Sevvie land on the headmaster’s plate, still nude, still bloody? It might upset some appetites!”

Voldemort chuckled and pulled Harry close again for a hug, then said, “I think that might be doable.”

“And maybe include a little note, staked to his chest with a knife or a pin so it doesn’t get lost in transit.”

“Let me think about it, Harry, the logistics. I will definitely go ahead and remove those carvings you made, though, and possibly replace them with something less telling.”

“Okay. Logistics?” Harry sat back again with an adorably puzzled expression on his face.

Voldemort had to firmly rein in the urge to sink his hands in Harry’s hair and kiss him soundly or get lost in another round of sex. “Yes, such as making certain the portkey could be set to land him in the exact location. It’s been a number of years since I’ve been in the castle. Bodily, that is.”

Harry pondered, his gaze drifting off to the right. Then he looked back with an odd smile curving his lips.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked suspiciously.

Harry immediately adopted an innocent expression. “I bet I could nip in and refresh my memory of that particular location, and verify the coordinates, without getting caught. Then I could return here and you could make that portkey, Tom.”

Voldemort knew it was a mistake, but he took the bait and said, “You bet?”

“Why, yes. I was thinking that if I was able to manage it, you’d give me a very specific reward.”

“Harry, I would give you just about anything you wanted anyway. All you have to do is ask.”

Harry grinned and replied, “Yes, but it’s more fun this way.”

Voldemort gave a slight sigh and asked the expected question. “And just what reward would you want?”

Harry didn’t answer immediately; he licked his lips first and coyly traced a pattern on Voldemort’s chest before he said, “I’d want you to take me on your desk. You know, in your office.”

“But, Harry, that’s horribly cliché,” he protested.

“Yes, I know, but think about it. Why would it be one if people weren’t so damn eager to make it one? There must be a reason, and I want to know. So, if I successfully bring back those coordinates, will you?”

Voldemort found himself smiling almost against his will and nodding. “All right. If that’s what you’d like, then yes. But, what about if you fail?”

Harry looked briefly taken aback. “I don’t think that’s really a concern, do you?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not a true bet unless there’s a penalty involved for losing,” Voldemort pointed out.

“Oh. Well, I suppose so,” Harry said a bit reluctantly. “Like what?”

He thought about that for a few moments, then smiled. “If you fail, Harry, you will have to wear clothing for an entire week. That is, with the exception of when I’m feeding you, or we’re sleeping, or any time I decide to take you simply because I feel like it.”

A dismayed look crossed Harry’s face. “A whole week? Well, okay. But I’m not going to fail, Tom. In any case, you’ve just reminded me that I need to go pick up my order from Madam Malkin’s.”


	4. Malkin, Malfoy & Weasley

Harry slipped into Madam Malkin’s unobtrusively, having noticed the odd Order member casually strolling the length of Diagon Alley, and approached the counter to pick up his order, a plan quickly forming in his mind that Voldemort was easily able to discern, and even approve of. This time, however, Harry’s hooded cloak was a faded brown in colour.

Madam Malkin greeted him cheerfully and immediately produced several packages for him, shrinking them down so he could put them in his pocket with little fuss. But before she could wander off on other business, Harry decided to enact his plan.

“Madam,” he said in a confidential voice, “I was wondering if you might be willing to do me a small favor.”

Her expression changed to display curiosity, and even a little suspicion.

“You see, it has come to my attention that—well, no, perhaps it would make more sense if I explained something first. As you might be aware I have been hard at work over the past few years, training, and helping as best I can to take care of this little problem we all seem to find ourselves in.”

She nodded, leaning closer over the counter.

“The people that need to all know exactly how to get in touch with me, naturally, but I noticed as I was on my way in that there’s been some suspicious activity in the alley, and I’m concerned that someone might have recognized me before and spread word that I’ve been spotted out and about.”

Her expression changed to include a touch of confusion.

“You see, I have been made aware that certain parties have taken it upon themselves to wander about in disguise—such as using glamours or polyjuice?—looking like friends of mine, so that they might more easily make inquiries as to my whereabouts.”

A faint look of fear crossed her face and she leaned in even closer.

“Now, I was thinking that you could help me out a bit, if you were willing, that is, as I’m concerned that one of those people—I can only assume they are connected to the Dark Lord—might come in here to ask you questions, and I would like to make sure that if that did happen, you wouldn’t be in any danger from me having patronized your fine establishment.

“To that end, I was thinking that I could place another order with you—I’ll pay for it now, actually—and dash off a quick note letting you know that I’ll be delayed in picking it up and could show up unexpectedly. You would have proof and be able to answer any questions honestly, and I would make the time to keep an eye on things unobtrusively to see where these people end up going, and hopefully bring them in for questioning. Do you think you’d be willing to help?”

She straightened up and appeared to consider his offer quite seriously. A full minute passed before she looked at him with a faintly sympathetic expression and said, “That’s very clever of you, and thoughtful, I must say.” She reached out to pat his hand briefly for emphasis. “Yes, I’d be happy to help, and I think I’d feel a lot better knowing that you’ll be keeping an eye out here in the alley.”

Voldemort privately wondered why that was so, since Diagon Alley was more or less considered an unofficial safe zone. He couldn’t even remember the last time any altercations or pitched battles had been fought there, if ever.

Harry smiled warmly at the lady and inclined his head. “I am happy to be of service, madam. Now, I think it would be fine if you just whipped up another set of what I’ve just gotten—if that’s all right with you? And if I’m not able to break away from duty long enough to pick it up in a reasonable amount of time, I’m not going to care if you decide to sell it to someone else. I’m more concerned for everyone’s safety, so a few galleons is of no never mind to me.”

“Yes, I can do that,” she said. “I can just check over the order slip from before.”

“Splendid,” Harry said as he fetched out another handful of galleons and passed them over. “Thank you so much. Everyone is always so complimentary when they speak of you, so I just knew I could count on you.”

She blushed rosily and slipped the money into the till, allowed him to gallantly drop a kiss on the back of her hand, then scurried off quickly, totally forgetting about the note he had mentioned.

Voldemort mentally rolled his eyes as Harry slipped back out, attracting no particular notice, and headed off to an owl office to take care of that little detail. A short time later Harry had finished scoping out the opposition for the day, having only come up with someone he suspected was Tonks and possibly one other person he wasn’t sure he recognized.

He had another brief, not quite verbal discussion with Voldemort, then headed home.

* * *

Harry, of course, successfully came back from his little mission a few days later and smugly presented Voldemort with the required coordinates, but refused to explain just exactly how he had managed it. Voldemort didn’t have the heart to tell his mate that he had watched the entire trip, having been very careful to remain mentally quiet so that Harry wouldn’t know he was there or be distracted. After all, much as it might pain him to admit (not that he would, because dark lords did not admit to such things), his nerves did fray a teensy bit whenever Harry left the house.

So he accepted the data after giving Harry an obviously manufactured look of irritation for his reticence and tucked the paper in his pocket. “When would you like your reward?”

Harry bounced and clasped his hands together behind his back, then said, “Now?”

“I have a meeting scheduled in just under an hour, Harry,” Voldemort pointed out.

“So? That’s plenty of time,” Harry said and leaned forward slightly. “Please?”

Voldemort stifled a sigh. How he was supposed to get anything done with Harry looking so damned appealing all the time was beyond him. Honestly. He found it somewhat ironic that Harry had once accused him of being able to get him to do anything with just a touch, and here his mate stood giving him that wide-eyed, hopeful look that Voldemort simply couldn’t say no to. And for pity’s sake, they’d only “been together” for approximately a fortnight.

“All right, Harry. But you need to put at least _some_ clothing on. I will not have you prancing around the compound in the altogether and potentially distracting my followers. The next thing I know they could be hexing each other’s heads off because they were looking at you instead of where they should be aiming.”

Harry stepped forward and brushed his lips to Voldemort’s. “Okay. I’ll go put something on real quick.” He started for the bedroom, then paused and tossed back over his shoulder suspiciously, “Don’t you dare sneak off without me.”

Voldemort rubbed his forehead as Harry disappeared and wondered just who was getting the better half of the bargain insofar as the bonding went, then shrugged when he considered how much more fun his life had become recently, not to mention satisfying on a number of levels, and dare he think it, meaningful. Still, he was beginning to feel like he was no longer the only dark lord in town. And on the heels of that thought he realized that with the right support, Harry would make a better dark lord than he was, and might already be.

Harry reappeared, so they went on to his office, and once inside Harry quickly slithered out of his meager clothing and perched on the edge of the desk. “I feel squirmy and melty inside already and you haven’t even touched me. I just knew there was a reason people liked to do this,” Harry said breathlessly.

Voldemort smiled faintly and stepped up to fit himself between his mate’s legs so he could capture Harry’s mouth in a kiss while he reached down to unfasten his trousers and release his already hardening penis. All Harry had to do was look at him the right way and he became aroused, a sometimes vexing prospect considering he already had so much trouble preventing himself from constantly caressing the young man without thinking.

Harry leaned back, coaxing Voldemort to lean with him, and brought his feet up off the floor so he could wrap his legs around Voldemort’s waist. A moment later he was wriggling his hips impatiently and making mewling noises deep in his throat. Voldemort retaliated by stroking his mate’s scales, then positioning himself for entrance, thrusting sharply a moment later and sinking himself fully in one go.

Harry broke their kiss and tossed his head back, biting his lip so hard it broke the skin, and Voldemort immediately reached out to pull him back into a kiss. He could taste sweet, coppery blood briefly before Harry’s ability kicked in and healed him, and that was when Voldemort braced himself and began thrusting in earnest, setting up a smooth, steady rhythm he knew he could keep control of for a decent length of time.

It was about then that the office door opened. Someone stepped in, closed the door behind them, then prostrated themself.

Voldemort broke their kiss and glanced over, his hips still working smoothly, and saw that it was young Draco Malfoy, who apparently could not yet read a clock properly. He gave a mental shrug and turned his attention back to his sweet little incubus (who was flushed and moaning with abandon) and reached between them to begin stroking and fondling Harry’s cock and balls.

And, as he was not particularly fond of the idea of giving anyone a protracted voyeuristic experience of their sex life, Voldemort picked up his pace and reclaimed Harry’s mouth, swallowing the young man’s delightful expressions of his pleasure. Harry didn’t even seem to be aware that they were no longer alone.

A short time later Harry was convulsing in orgasm beneath him, which triggered his own release, one so intense that his vision greyed out briefly. When he finally stopped feeling like someone had hit him with a jelly-legs jinx, Voldemort pulled free gently and cast a quick cleansing charm, then straightened himself and reached for Harry’s clothing. It was entirely possible, he thought, that Harry had a point about clichés.

He put a finger to his lips as he assisted his mate up, jerking his head slightly in the direction of Malfoy—Harry blinked several times and shook his head as though to fix his eyesight—and then helped Harry to get dressed, pulling up his hood last and giving him an amused, conspiratorial smile.

Only then did he take a seat behind his desk and say, “Malfoy. Is there some particular reason you decided to invade my office well before your scheduled meeting?”

Malfoy lifted his head part way, clearly terrified, and said in a shaky voice, “My lord, you have my deepest apologies. I must have misread the time.”

“Obviously,” Voldemort said dryly, then conjured up an extra chair next to his own and waved Harry into it. “If it happens again I might forego an easy punishment like you’re about to receive and have you cleaning the barracks for a month straight.” Then he lifted his wand and said, “Crucio.”

He gazed at the ceiling as though bored for approximately a minute, then lifted the spell and said, “Take a seat, Malfoy.”

Draco’s face showed the aftereffects of the curse, but also the flush of . . . embarrassment? Lust? Voldemort could not be sure without digging into his mind, and he really couldn’t be bothered. “Splendid. I am well pleased to see that your inability to understand the concept of time has not hindered your efforts to find a chair. Now, report.”

He listened with only half his attention, the other half divided between noticing Malfoy’s badly concealed curious looks at Harry and his desire to yank his mate onto his lap so he would at least have something interesting to do while he absorbed the report. Still, it looked as though there were a number of students in the current crop of seventh years at Hogwarts that might be willing to join his dark army, and that was always welcome news.

“Fine,” he eventually said. “I want a detailed list by the end of the week. I also want a full accounting on our cover in Hogsmeade. Someone over there seems to be trying to hide something from me. I expect you to find out what’s going on and inform me directly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It occurs to me that I might need to send _you_ back through training with the greenies, Malfoy,” he said, delighting in the split second look of consternation that crossed the blond’s face. “After all, you’ve been doing a seriously piss poor job just in the last twenty minutes of keeping your eyes and attention where they belong. I’m beginning to think that you’re suffering delusions of being more important than you are, which might explain your lack of proper manners and respect today.”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to cause offense.”

Voldemort arched one brow and turned to Harry. “What do you think? Are we feeling so unlike ourselves today as to let him off with a warning?”

Harry turned his head toward Draco, his face completely shadowed by the hood, then snorted softly. “That depends,” he said in a raspy whisper.

“On?”

“Can he fight?”

Voldemort contemplated that for a moment, gazing at Malfoy speculatively. “Against you?”

“Yes.”

And as much as that might be an amusing duel to witness, Voldemort had to slowly shake his head. “He wouldn’t last ten seconds against you. No fun at all, I’m afraid. You’d be bored senseless.”

Harry made a disappointed sound under his hood and turned his head back to Voldemort. “I have no opinion, then. Unless, of course, he is imbecilic enough to speak of what he witnessed here, in which case I will simply hunt him down and kill him.”

Voldemort nodded and looked back at his minion. “I am feeling a touch generous at the moment, so I suppose it’ll just be a warning. Crucio.” This time he held the curse for two minutes, knowing full well that Malfoy would be dragging his ass off to the infirmary the second he was out the door and begging someone there for a potion to ease his suffering.

“Dismissed, Malfoy,” he said indifferently, then watched as the young man staggered to his feet and exited. He waited a full minute before he turned to Harry and unleashed a wide smile. “I must say, I rather enjoyed that.”

His mate was kind enough to refrain from saying the obvious, and instead laughed softly. Voldemort knew, though, if he could see Harry’s face, his mate would most likely be sporting a self-satisfied little smirk that just screamed the thought, “I told you so.” 

* * *

The only real problem Voldemort had with the idea of portkeying Severus into the Great Hall was the fact that neither of them could easily watch the reactions it provoked. When he voiced that concern, Harry was prompt to offer up a suggestion.

“Tom, you do have students at the school that belong to you already. There’s nothing saying you can’t order one to eat in the kitchens, and let me take their place for a single meal.” He paused a second, then continued, “Preferably a student who’s a bit anti-social or surly, so I could tell seat mates to piss off if they tried to talk to me. In any case, I could be there and we could watch together.”

And so they did. Harry slipped off to Hogwarts with a supply of polyjuice potion, met with the student and thoroughly cowed him into fearful submission without ever once raising his voice or revealing his identity, then sent him off to the kitchens after procuring several strands of the young man’s hair and with an admonition to _not_ show his face until after the usual dinner hour was over or face dire consequences.

He then knocked back a dose in a secure location, waited to finish transforming, then verified his appearance before strolling off toward the Great Hall in time for dinner and a show. Harry made sure to get a seat with a very good view of the head table, snarling at anyone who dared to question his choice, then settled in to pretend to eat.

So it was that Harry was perfectly positioned when a very naked, very bloody, corpse of Severus Snape appeared on top of Dumbledore’s dinner with an odd squelching sound. He even still had his little toy intact, complete with weighted chains, and a sort of collar around his neck to make sure his head didn’t inconveniently roll away. And, the pièce de résistance, Snape was positioned so that he lay across the table, not along it, with his legs spread apart to give Dumbledore the best view possible.

Students in the hall looked up at the disturbance, paused a few seconds to take stock of the situation, then erupted into complete chaos. Harry simply sat there, an expression of carefully manufactured shocked disbelief on his face, and watched the head table as students all over the hall were screaming, fainting, being ill, or running away from the sight.

Albus Dumbledore, a man with a reputation for always appearing unflappable, calmly reached out to remove the note thoughtfully stuck to Snape’s chest with a small metal skewer and opened it, read, then set it aside and stood up to sweep his gaze over his former Potions professor. Then he turned and spoke quietly to McGonagall, who looked like she was barely holding onto her own dinner, never mind consciousness, then turned and spoke to Flitwick.

Then, seeming to finally notice the chaos in the Great Hall, thundered, “Silence!”

The student body as a whole turned to give the headmaster their attention, so he continued, “Prefects and Heads will lead their houses to their dormitories immediately. Food will be made available for those who wish it. Go, now.”

Harry made sure to be a straggler, but was disappointed to note that Dumbledore merely levitated the corpse and headed off through the door at the back of the hall. Annoyed at not having received a more obvious response, Harry hastened off to the kitchens to order the student he had copied to return to the dorms, then fled the castle under cover of invisibility.

Voldemort was not surprised to see a petulant look on Harry’s face when his mate stepped into the sitting room and began stripping off his clothes. “Now, Harry, we both knew that Dumbledore wouldn’t likely freak out.”

“I know,” Harry said sullenly, “but I was hoping a little bit. It makes it so hard to tell if he enjoyed our little gift!”

“How could he have not?” Voldemort said. “I’m sure he was very pleased that Severus returned, even if he did get him back a bit damaged.”

Harry looked up and smiled. “I’m so glad you insisted on leaving everything intact, Tom. It’s just a shame that the student body wasn’t able to properly see my handiwork. But then, I suppose, most of them are innocent children, so I guess it’s just as well.”

Voldemort nodded, though there had been a time when the concept of sparing innocents would have been the absolute last thing on his mind when it came to mayhem and terror. “I’m sure we can find out more about reactions from the next person, or persons, you manage to capture and bring back. And if absolutely necessary, we can revisit the idea of you sneaking into their headquarters and snooping around and talking to portraits.”

Harry got a thoughtful look on his face. “I might do well to visit Gringotts again.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, Sirius is dead. I wonder if he left me anything, like . . . oh, I don’t know, headquarters? It was his property, after all, and I didn’t think to check on anything but money.”

Voldemort smiled slightly and gave a thoughtful nod. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to check with the goblins to see if he left a will you were named in. And if it was left to you?”

Harry tilted his head and blinked, then said, “Well, assuming they didn’t somehow manage to find that out, and get me to sign over the property and obliviate that from my memory . . . I suppose I could be unkind and boot them out, but I’m not sure how I would. And Dumblefuck does have it under the fidelius charm.”

“Find out first if you want, then we’ll discuss this again if it is indeed something we can make use of.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugged and flopped into a chair, tucking his legs up beneath him. “Well, whatever. I think right now I should start focusing on my next target. I should probably haunt Diagon Alley, or. . . . Actually, where’s that list you made?”

* * *

Harry had not actually got around to tracking down any more friends to play with when Voldemort came back to the house with a bit of news after a day of work overseeing his evil empire. He took his usual seat and pinned his mate with an intent gaze.

Harry gave him a suspicious look and said, “What is it?”

“Some of my people brought me a present today,” Voldemort said. “Ginevra Weasley, to be specific.”

Harry shrugged indifferently. “She’s not on the list.”

“That’s true. However, I thought you might be interested in doing a little digging, and then perhaps help me decide what to do with her.”

“If she’s an innocent you should let her go,” Harry said.

Voldemort held back a sigh at Harry’s lack of interest in someone he wasn’t planning to kill. “Yes. However, she may know things that could be of value to us. I plan to investigate regardless. The question is whether or not you wish to join me.”

That made his mate become thoughtful. “I can understand that. I’ll help if you want me to.”

He gave Harry a nod and said, “Are you up to it now? We could be done with her in a couple of hours and send her on her way, minus a few pertinent memories, of course.”

“Okay.” Harry got up and disappeared into the bedroom, presumably to dress, and returned shortly, a faint look of distaste on his face.

Voldemort could not decide if it was simply the necessity of having to wear clothing or the idea of having to look into the mind of a female that had Harry in a mild snit. “Let us go, then,” he said, then rose and headed off toward his office.

He had already moved the girl into his private dungeon, not wanting to risk any of his more impulsive followers deciding they ought to have a little fun with her. In the general course of things he would not really care if they were a bit overeager, but there were simply some prisoners he wished to deal with personally.

She, unlike Severus or Moody, was bound to a chair rather than a rack and was fully dressed, though she was in the same Dark Arts coma. Voldemort conjured up chairs and took a seat, then said, “All right, Harry. Do you remember how to do this?”

Several hours later they were both sitting back contemplating what they had learned. Apparently, Harry might not be the only experiment in town. Voldemort did recall that he had learned from Severus that attempts had been made to gift others with Harry’s healing ability, though those had failed, and it was now clear that Miss Weasley was aware that Neville Longbottom was one of those subjects.

And while she was not a member of the Order, she possessed enough cunning and resourcefulness to have learned more than she ought. None of it concerned Harry directly, though, only Neville, and she seemed to be rather infatuated with the young man, despite her concerns about his welfare, for in fact, her memories of Longbottom showed that his behavior was a bit . . . odd.

If nothing else, Voldemort was pleased that Harry had a chance to properly absorb the lesson on interrogation techniques without being pushed into another blind rage at what he found, though he did seem slightly agitated. And then he spoke.

“I really, really, do not want to learn that poor Neville has had to go through anything like what I did,” Harry said, tightly gripping the arms of his chair.

Voldemort was not sure how to respond to that, so he settled on silence for the moment.

“You said he’s been at some of the Order meetings, right?”

“Yes.”

“How did he act?”

Voldemort thought back to what he had witnessed in Moody’s memories, then said, “Very quiet, almost like a ghost. He never spoke unless spoken to and deferred to everyone else.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that’s not entirely out of character for him, from what I recall. But if Ginny is concerned, there might actually be a problem. Do you suppose it’s possible that Dumblefuck set up two experiments, one for each prophecy child, and it’s just that hardly anyone is aware of what’s been done to him? After all, I’m the Boy Who Bloody Fucking Lived, so I’d get all the airtime, right?”

Voldemort thought about that for a minute and said, “Possibly. As I understood it, though, the Longbottom matriarch is quite an old battle axe. Why would she consent to have her grandson be tortured?”

“That’s assuming she knows the details, Tom. And anyway, she seemed to think that Neville was quite nearly a disgrace to the family name and could never measure up to his father. If they’d presented her with a plausible scenario, she might well have agreed, just to finally see the family disappointment make something of himself. They might also have pushed the prophecy angle, citing that he could be in as much danger as I was, even though I know and Dumblefuck knows that Neville isn’t capable of killing you.”

Voldemort looked over sharply. “What do you mean?”

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed at the question and ducked his head for a moment. “I’m sorry. Things have just been so. . . . Right, the prophecy. Dumbledore told me what it said, Tom. He was the one who originally heard it so he was able to show me a memory. It was right after Sirius died, when I was so completely angry and in shock.

“Anyway, basically, it said you would mark someone, the one with the power to defeat you, as your equal, and that neither could live while the other survived. Frankly, given our present situation, I tend to think it’s a load of rubbish. Yes, you certainly managed to mark me that night, but I’m having a very hard time believing that we’re suddenly going to go postal on each other or live miserable, empty lives unless one of us kicks off.

“Then again, it also said something about how either must die at the hand of the other. I sort of wonder if that means we’re both immortal so long as we agree to and hold true to a cease fire, which we’ve essentially already done. And believe me, if our present relationship is an example of ‘not living’, I’m perfectly happy to go right on ‘not living’, if you catch my drift.”

Voldemort rubbed his chin and tried to process everything Harry had just told him. Finally, after much thought, he said, “Prophecies can be negated, Harry. Many of them never even come true, though I suppose in this case that if what he showed you was real, then aspects of it were negated either through their actions, yours, or mine. I suppose it doesn’t much matter. And yes, I’m quite content to ‘not live’ right there with you. So, what do you think about Miss Weasley and Mr Longbottom?”

“Her? Fix her memories and let her go, preferably somewhere near the Burrow, or wherever it is she’s living these days. I’d say construct a nice little fantasy where one of your people was careless and allowed her to escape, but she passed out from exhaustion once she was near safety, not quite at home.”

Voldemort nodded. “An excellent suggestion.”

“Now, Neville? I’m—” Harry stopped and got out of his chair, dropping onto Voldemort’s lap a few seconds later and pressing close. “I’m kind of afraid to find out,” he said quietly.

“I ask for your benefit, Harry, not mine or even his. After all, I do not know that young man, and really have no reason to care except for the fact that it might affect _you_. If you don’t wish to make a decision just yet, that’s all right. I’m not going to push you on it. In fact, if you never make that decision it’s all right. I could argue that you were able to extricate yourself from your predicament, so if he shares it to some degree, it might be as well for him to make strides personally toward resolving things.”

Harry shifted against him in a way that told Voldemort his mate was very uncomfortable with the current subject, so he switched topics. “Now, about Miss Weasley. I will fix her memories and personally see to dropping her off. You may join me if you like, to see that she awakens and makes it to safety.”

Harry sort of shrugged and said, “That might be nice. I have nothing against her, so we probably should make sure nothing bad happens to her while she’s unconscious and helpless. Do you think maybe sometime you can teach me about obliviating people and constructing replacements?”

“Of course. The next Death Eater who royally pisses me off can be our guinea pig.”

It wasn’t so much longer that they were able to do that, watching from a vantage point screened by trees and other foliage as Ginny woke up slowly and looked around, then jumped to her feet and raced like blazes toward the Burrow.


	5. Ron & Hermione Weasley

Voldemort, having decided that his mate really needed to be cheered up after certain recent events, went to the trouble of tracking down and capturing Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Rather, Hermione Weasley. They lived in a quaint little cottage in a rural muggle area, far enough away from neighbors that he wasn’t all that worried about being noticed.

And indeed, he would not have cared much anyway. After all, this was for Harry, so a few muggles getting the shock of their lives was hardly a blip on the radar. The warding they had in place was about as effective as tissue paper when it came to the level of skill he possessed, not to mention the amount of power and patience, and given that he knew what to expect.

So it was that he added two new toys to his dungeon in the middle of the night, took the time to do the usual checks for anything dangerous, then wandered off home. However, before he had a chance to let his still awake mate know about the gift, Harry had tackled him and dragged him into the bedroom, making quick work of removing Voldemort’s clothes and pushing him onto the bed.

“I see you’re feeling quite frisky,” Voldemort commented.

Harry licked his lips and straddled him, then looked at him sort of hesitantly. “I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if maybe you would mind if, um. . . .”

“You topped?” Voldemort said helpfully.

Harry blinked a few times and shook his head. “Er, no, though that’s an interesting idea, too. I, um, wanted to know if you would—if I could—” Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then said, “I would really like to know what it feels like, your mouth on me. I—it’s not that I don’t enjoy what we do, Tom, I just. . . .”

Voldemort did not respond with words, as it did not need to be explicitly stated that Harry had most likely never experienced someone taking the time to worship his body. Indeed, even he was remiss, having contented himself with somewhat selfish behavior when it came to giving pleasure to his mate. It should not matter that it did nothing in terms of sustenance if Harry’s pleasure was the only goal. He needed to firmly keep in mind that there should be and was a difference between sex for pleasure and sex for the purpose of feeding his mate.

So Voldemort reached up to pull Harry down into a kiss, then rolled them over so he was on top. He spent quite some time simply kissing his mate, eventually sliding his mouth along Harry’s jaw and over to his neck, to begin biting and suckling in a generally downward direction. Harry just lay there, seeming completely boneless beneath him, letting out breathy little sighs and moans to signal his pleasure in and approval of Voldemort’s actions thus far.

And he continued working his way down, pausing to spend quite a bit of time teasing Harry’s nipples with his teeth and tongue and fingers. That made his mate’s expressions louder, which likewise pleased him. When he had worked his way down to Harry’s achingly stiff penis he decided to be a slight tease and stroke the skin to either side fairly firmly, then slide his hands along his mate’s thighs.

As they made the return journey his hands swept up Harry’s inner thighs, gently pushing his legs farther apart, and then Voldemort positioned himself so that he might not only use his fingers to slide inside Harry to stimulate his prostate, but also comfortably attend to his mate’s cock.

The odd thing about all of it was that Voldemort had never given anyone head before, so this was a new experience for him, as well. Harry certainly seemed to appreciate his efforts, though, so Voldemort was pleased to continue, quickly getting the hang of relaxing his throat muscles so as to entirely engulf his mate without trouble.

His jaw, though, was getting a bit tired by the time Harry started to tense up and begin to jerk his hips uncontrollably, and it was all Voldemort could do to keep up with the frantic thrusts into his mouth and swallow the resulting warm sticky liquid. After Harry was completely spent Voldemort crawled back up to kiss him softly, then prepare to get them both settled for the night, ignoring his own aching erection.

The next morning he awoke to the sensation of a warm, wet mouth on his cock and murmured in sleepy pleasure. He was starting to lose control of his hips when Harry released him to crawl up his body and then straddle him, setting things up so he could sink down onto Voldemort’s penis and begin to ride him without restraint. One hand was firmly planted on Voldemort’s chest while Harry’s other reached down to fondle and stroke his own cock, and shortly thereafter they had both reached completion. They fell back to sleep with Harry nestled against his side.

It was over a late breakfast—Voldemort’s, that is—that he was finally able to mention his late night activities. “I have a present for you, Harry,” he said casually, then had another piece of bacon.

Judging by the expression on Harry’s face, one might think Christmas had come early. “Oh?” he said eagerly.

“Indeed. I happened to stumble over some people I think you might like to see and brought them home with me. Well, not home, per se.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “The dungeon, then. Who!?”

Voldemort spooned some of his eggs onto a piece of toast and had a bite before saying, “Why, your two best friends in the whole world.”

Harry tossed his book aside carelessly and clapped in delight. “Ooooo, I can’t wait to see what’s in their heads.”

He looked up, an indulgent smile on his face, then said rather soberly, “Harry, I know how upset you were when we had Moody, so I want you to keep a firm grip on your temper when we check their memories, all right?”

Harry pouted for a moment, then looked briefly resigned. “Yes. I suppose I deserve that warning.”

“I’m not blaming you for your reaction before. I do think, however, that you’ll be better prepared this time, especially if you keep in mind that you probably won’t like what you’ll see.”

“I know. You’re trying to look out for me, not hurt me. I guess I was completely blindsided then, but you’re right, I should be okay this time. Thank you for the reminder, Tom. Actually, thank you for last night. That was. . . . Hell, I don’t know how to describe it, but I’m not going to say no if you do it again sometime.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Harry retrieved his book and found the page he had been at, marked it, then set the book aside properly. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts, I realize, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it.”

“Out of sorts how?”

Harry shrugged a shoulder and wrinkled his nose. “Well, I’m not sure. It’s just . . . I feel kind of strange. I’ve been trained to within an inch of my life, but. . . . I am happy that you have a training room here so I can get my exercise.”

Voldemort considered that rather disjointed explanation, then said, “Would you like to go out on raids?”

His mate shook his head violently. “No, absolutely not. I’ve no interest in that. Maybe it’s to do with having seen Malfoy the other day.”

He made a leap of logic and said, “You’re proud of the skill you command as a fighter, a warrior, and you wouldn’t mind showing that off, but not necessarily in real combat.”

Harry adopted a very thoughtful expression, then nodded. “Maybe I would.”

“Let me think about it. I’m sure I can come up with something to pique your interest. And once I finish my breakfast, how about we go poke around inside some heads?”

* * *

It took Harry a number of days before he was ready to tackle his former best friends. Eventually, though, he was very ready. Voldemort took up his usual position in the shadows, this time inducing them with magic so he could lounge comfortably in a squashy armchair and sip wine without being seen. After all, it did get tiring standing up for so long, and one had a tendency to fidget after a while, which was very unbecoming of a dark lord.

Mr and Mrs Weasley had been racked up and placed not quite directly apart from each other. Rather, they were angled somewhat. If Harry were to stand between them they could see both him and each other quite comfortably. Voldemort shuddered slightly every time he looked at the male; all that milky skin absolutely ruined by so many freckles. She wasn’t so bad, he supposed, but he seriously questioned her taste.

And then, Harry nodded his approval to start and slipped into his own pool of shadows. Voldemort opened his link to Harry so that he could see both captives while still being able to clearly see his mate, then released them from their comas and sat back to enjoy the show.

She raised her head first, and her first action was to let out a gasp of surprise, then wildly look around. That seemed to spur Ron awake, though not to full wakefulness, as he started mumbling something about it being too early.

“Ron! Wake up!” she demanded tersely. “Ron!”

He mumbled a bit more loudly, then yawned and tried to get more comfortable, frowning sleepily when he could not.

Hermione scowled in annoyance and shrieked, “Ronald Weasley! Wake up this instant!”

Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes wide open. “I’m up, I’m up. Where’s the fire?” Then he seemed to realize his predicament. “What the—where the hell are we? And why are we—?”

“Well, Ron, the logical conclusion is that we’re in a dungeon, strung up on racks, and naked,” she drawled, though fear was etched on her face. Then she added, “And quite probably in the clutches of the Dark Lord.”

“We’ve got to get free!” he declared.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, Ron, that would be good. Now, are you able to free your hands? I’ve tried, and can’t. Perhaps you can. Quickly now, before somebody comes.”

Five minutes later they were still arguing. And while Voldemort could not actually see his mate at the moment, he could sense the brief, bitter smile that twisted his lips. It was then that Harry decided to make his entrance.

He stepped into the light, seeming to bleed shadows, then casually conjured up a chair and took a seat. He was wearing a set of skintight black leather trousers, black leather boots, and a wand holster strapped to each forearm. His hair was now a waterfall of black reaching down to his tailbone, and his skin had a translucent quality that made him look ethereal. It was just enough different from his normal appearance to throw people off, and made him resemble a sadistic dark angel.

“Harry? Is that you? Harry!” Hermione cried. “You’ve got to help us! Please, get us down from here!”

Harry looked faintly confused by that. “Why are you referring to me as Harry?” he asked. “It sounds rather like you’ve mistaken me for someone who’d give a damn.”

“Harry?” they said in unison.

“You’re not twins are you?” he said accusingly. “You don’t look like twins.”

“Harry! What on earth is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded.

Harry ignored them and instead produced a clipboard with several sheets of paper on it, then began to scan the text, occasionally flipping the pages. When he looked up he said, “Right. The paperwork seems to be in order, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Harry?” they repeated.

“I have here one signed contract. You ordered the Deluxe Personalized Fantasy Torture Session, right?” He consulted the clipboard again. “And you’re Bertha and Homer Dalrimple—from Tillingford?” He looked back up when they said nothing and just stared at him in disbelief. “Look, it’s a simple enough question, and we _are_ required to verify these things. All you need to do is say yes, or nod. . . .”

“Those are not our names,” she hissed. “Now please, get us down from here.”

“They’re not?” Harry flipped his hair back absently and glanced at his clipboard again. “Then who are you?”

“Ronald and Hermione Weasley,” she said with exaggerated patience, then shot a worried look at her husband.

“Oh,” Harry said, sounding quite puzzled. He flipped through the pages again, then gasped and said, “Oh dear. There’s been a horrible mistake.”

They both gave faintly relieved sighs, which Voldemort thought was quite a silly reaction, then stiffened at his next words.

“I am _such_ an airhead! I had the paperwork in the wrong order.” Harry pressed on the clip long enough to yank out the top set of papers, then tossed them aside carelessly. “All right, yes,” he said, then slowly read from what remained. “Dark Army work order number C53-E629-AA23. Names, Ronald and Hermione Weasley. Disposition, excruciating torture and death. Right, that’s verified, then.”

Harry tossed the clipboard over his shoulder and stood up, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we get started? Is there any particular type of torture you’d like? Or method of death?”

“Harry, please!” she pleaded. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but please let us down. We’ll get you some help! We’re your best friends, you can trust us!”

Harry’s expression went from vaguely cheerful and eager to downright chilly. “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you just claimed to be my best friends.”

“We are, Harry. We’ll get you some help if you’ll just let us down.”

“Yeah, mate. You are acting a bit odd,” added Ron.

“And I can trust you?”

“Of course you can, Harry,” Hermione said passionately. Then she really put her foot in it. “We’ve been through so much together, don’t you remember? You know you can trust us. We only want what’s best for you.”

Harry smirked and placed a hand on his hip. “Really,” he drawled. “Let’s talk about that, shall we? Or rather, I’ll talk and you two will listen,” he said, then flopped back into his chair and slung a leg over one arm.

“Friends, huh? Yeah, I seem to recall that we had seven years of school together. Went on plenty of adventures, too. You, Hermione, always aspired to be the brains of the outfit, and you, Ron, always aspired to be the—” He furrowed his brow. “Well, I’m not sure, actually. We’ll call you the faithful sidekick, though I suppose that’s suspect due to fourth year. Oh, and I suppose you did pull double duty as comic relief at times, so that’s worth mentioning.”

Ron’s face went red and he shouted, “You bloody bastard!”

Harry flicked a wand into view and casually shot a stinging hex at Ron, then put it back in its holster. “You know, that was downright rude of you to interrupt like that. Please note that each time one of you misbehaves I will have to punish you. Oh, and it will get worse each time.”

He paused again, seeming a bit lost, then brightened. “Right. So we had seven years together, grand adventures, blah blah blah. However, I’ve recently had a look at the Big Book of Friendship and I noticed a few rather startling things, so I’m fairly certain that what you two did is a big no-no. Very naughty of you, really.”

Hermione looked like she was about to protest, but thought better of it and held her tongue.

Harry smiled at her approvingly, then continued. “You see, nowhere in the Big Book does it say, ‘Thou shalt deliver thy friends over into slavery.’ I realize that you two don’t understand just yet, which is why I’m going to be super helpful and explain it for you, but I am aware of the little Order meeting you two attended near the end of seventh year. You know, the one where you all got together and agreed that Harry Potter was a rebellious teenager with no respect for authority, and who badly needed some discipline? The one where you all agreed that I simply would not listen to my betters, and absolutely must be stopped from nearly getting people killed on a regular basis?

“Yes, I know, Hermione, that after Sirius died you started to think quite a bit differently about me. And you, Ron, have been wavering ever since fourth year, plus have allowed Hermione to do your thinking for you far too often. It’s hardly a surprise that you two got married, though what she’s sees in you I’ll never know. Well, all right. Perhaps she’s just incredibly turned on by easily led oafs, I don’t know.”

They both protested at that point, so Harry whipped out both wands and cast again, this time upping the intensity of his little hex, an action that left both of them gasping in pain. “I did warn you,” he reminded them, then tucked the wands away.

“Now, where was I? Yes, of course. I am also aware that you both knew all the sordid little details of my training, and approved wholeheartedly, believing that it would produce a brilliant weapon for the Order, one that wouldn’t dare try to actually think for itself and potentially put others in danger, a weapon that could handle all the dirty work for the Order so the rest of you could sit back in safety while I risked my life. You liked that idea quite a bit. You also liked the fact that you got to supplement your incomes with my money, allowing you to live a more luxurious, definitely undeserved lifestyle.”

He gave Hermione a twisted smile. “You, darling, were jealous, and don’t try to deny it. We’re all friends here, right? And friends don’t keep secrets from each other, do they. Well, according to you, anyway. You might have played the role of the brains, but it made you taste bile that I had the power. All your books and reading and research could not give you what I had, and there was no potion you could mix up that could manage it, either.

“It doesn’t matter one whit how many spells you can learn about if you haven’t the power to cast them or defend against them. It’s just a circumstance of birth, darling, or fate. Take your pick. The thing is, I do have the brains, and the power, and presently, the authority. So you’re going to be a good little girl and do as you’re told.”

He had started to turn to Ron when she snarled, “They obviously didn’t beat you hard enough if you still have the wherewithal to presume you can outthink me, you freak. You were going to get us all killed if we didn’t do something to bring you under control!”

Harry smirked, released a wand into his hand, then hit her with the cruciatus curse for a minute, ignoring a frantically yelling Ron. After he lifted the spell he said, “Oooo, such big words. I’m so damn impressed. It seems I’m not quite done with you yet. I find it fairly interesting that you’d say such a thing. After all, you were such a champion for the rights of house-elves, those poor, abused, enslaved creatures. I seriously have to wonder why I am exempt from your compassion given that I too am not human and was abused and enslaved. Sounds like hypocrisy to me, darling.”

She lifted her head and shot him a hateful glare, then said, “Can’t outthink me, so you resort to pain curses in an attempt to keep me quiet? Yes, of course. That is the last bastion of the stupid, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed merrily and shook his head. “You don’t seem to understand, darling. This is a torture session. And a bit later on, once we’re done with that part, you’re going to die. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it can hardly be a torture session if you aren’t tortured. Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that. Now, be a good little girl and shut up while I talk at your husband.”

She opened her mouth to retort, and very quickly regretted it when Harry surged to his feet and tucked away his wand, replacing it with a knife he slid from a sheath on his thigh. “I warned you, little girl,” Harry said savagely, then advanced. “Perhaps _this_ will teach you to obey the authority figure.” She was helpless to resist when Harry forced her mouth open and yanked out her tongue, then sawed it clean off.

He stepped back a moment later, wiggling it impudently, then tossed the tongue off to one side and resumed his seat, absently wiping his hand off on his bare chest. “Do be sure to let me know if you’re in danger of bleeding to death or drowning, darling,” he said to her, then turned his attention to Ron, totally indifferent to the tears running down her face and the strangled noises of pain she was making.

Ron had gone white as a sheet; his expression was completely horror stricken and he seemed to be mumbling under his breath. “You, Ron, were also jealous. And see, I always found that to be a bit strange. You had the loving family, the interesting and magical home, and the lifestyle free of abuse, not to mention free of a psychotic madman trying his best to kill you. For some reason you seemed to think it was somehow wrong or unfair for me to have money, even if it was just a small vault that was getting me by for my school years.

“You were jealous of my fame, though heaven knows why. You wanted, for some insane reason, the spotlight, the notoriety, the adulation of the masses. Of course, we both know that’s a crock of shit. The wizarding public is hypocritical in the extreme, and badly needs a wake up call they can’t ignore. They, like you, seem to think it should be someone else’s problem. They, like you, seem to feel they somehow deserve a safety they aren’t willing to fight for. And they, like you, seem to think it’s awfully damn spiffy to have a scapegoat to blame when things get a bit dicey.

“For some incredibly mad reason, you wanted to be me. You conveniently glossed over the things you didn’t like, such as the nasty rumors, the hate mail, the fear and scorn and sneers. You glossed over the constant danger to my life, such as the fact that by the time we finished school I had nearly died six times, seven if you feel like counting that dementor. And even more if you count quidditch incidents.

“And as a result of all this selective blindness, you felt perfectly justified in thinking that I deserved none of what I had, and really ought to have to work for it. So you went along with that thrilling little plan, didn’t you.” When Ron said nothing Harry repeated, very tersely, “Didn’t you?”

Ron whispered, “Yes.”

Harry nodded and gave him an approving smile. “So you decided it was great for me to be trained by our dear, beloved Potions Master, Severus Snape, a man who despised the very ground I walked on and the air I breathed. A man who delighted in causing me pain, making me bleed rivers of blood, and especially liked indulging in rape.”

And then Ron made _his_ unfortunate misstep, softly saying without thinking it through, “But you needed to be fed.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth curled up in amusement. “Mm, definitely. You definitely pulled double duty as comic relief, Ron,” he murmured and got to his feet, gently pushed his chair back a ways, then cast a quick spell on Hermione to make sure she didn’t inconveniently die on him before her time.

“Well! Today I have a very special deal for you and your lovely, though mute, wife, Ronald. For absolutely no extra charge, I’m going to make a long cherished dream of yours come true,” he said excitedly. He summoned a whip and a set of bolt cutters and hooked them onto his belt, then stepped into the shadows for a moment, quickly reappearing with someone in tow.

“You wanted so badly to be me that I’m going to provide you with the unparalleled opportunity to intimately experience firsthand one of the more unforgettable aspects of my training, darling. And this”—he gestured to his companion, who appeared to be an exact replica of Severus Snape—“is my lovely assistant who, naturally, will be assisting me in this little playlet. 

“Now, listen closely, Ronald, because I’m about to explain the rules, and I wouldn’t want you to be confused or anything. After all, part of training is learning to obey without question or hesitation, and learning that failure brings consequences. Sevvie here is going to first feed you his cock so you can suck him to hardness, and then he’s going to whip you until you bleed, darling. And after that he’s going to thrust that lovely cock of his in and out of your ass until he cums. Now, the most important thing to remember is that for every sound you make, your lovely wife will suffer for it, such as by losing something important to her, or by feeling the sting of my whip. Are you with me so far, darling?”

“Don’t you dare touch her again, you fucking bastard!” Ron yelled as he began desperately struggling against his bonds. “You’ll pay for this, Dumbledore will make sure of it!”

Harry shook his head slowly. “Ron, Ron, Ron. You simply don’t like learning, do you? You really should have done your own work more often rather than copying off Hermione. Well, you’ve broken the rules already, so I simply must dish out some punishment.” He slinked up to Hermione, snagged the cutter off his belt, then proceeded to use it to nip off her left thumb, causing her eyes to bug out in renewed pain and more strangled noises to sound in her throat.

“Now, as I said, you’re not going to protest your treatment, Ron, nor are you going to make any sounds. I certainly learned not to like a good little boy, so I suggest you get with the program. Otherwise, your lovely wife might lose all her fingers and toes, and possibly be flayed alive. You see, I’m being _nice_ to you, darling, even thoughtful. I didn’t have this kind of motivation to help me behave myself when I was being trained, but you do, so make the best of it, Ron.” With that he used one of his wands to rearrange Ron’s rack to bend him over at the waist, moved it a bit so Ron would have no trouble seeing Hermione, then directed the golem to begin it’s programmed course of action. Another couple of spells made sure neither of them could keep their eyes closed for longer than it took to blink occasionally.

Ron nearly choked to death when the Severus golem abruptly shoved its penis into his mouth and started thrusting mechanically. It, after all, did not care whether its victim could breathe properly or if it had a touchy gag reflex. And it really did not matter if Ron attempted to bite it, as the golem wasn’t made of the sort of material he could easily damage. He was more likely to break his damn teeth in the attempt.

Harry waited patiently, humming slightly and idly inspecting his fingernails, then suddenly took interest again when the Severus golem pulled away and moved into position behind Ron, then slung a whip down off its shoulder and unfurled it. And for every moan or cry of pain Ron made, Harry cut off another of Hermione’s digits, at one point observing scathingly, “You’re pathetic, Ron. Even I did better than this the first time around.”

Voldemort was beginning to think Harry would run out of fingers and toes when the golem suddenly switched gears and tossed the whip aside, then slathered some of Ron’s blood all over its penis and pressed the head against his ass. It took Ron’s hips in a crushing grip, then pushed forward sharply, provoking an anguished yell.

Harry tossed the cutters aside and shook out his bullwhip, then sent it with a crack right up between Hermione’s legs. “Do try to be quiet, Ron,” he admonished his former friend. “I don’t think your wife appreciates how cavalier you’re being with her well-being. Oh, and did I forget to mention? Sevvie here can’t actually obtain orgasm, so I really hope you’re enjoying your stint as me since this will last until I’m damn good and ready to move on.”

The nasty little play continued until Voldemort’s weather eye on the girl showed she was close to death, so he nudged Harry’s mind to get him to hurry things along. Harry responded by signaling the golem to cease its actions and stand against the wall, then directed Ron’s rack to an upward position again.

“Well, I suppose you two have had enough fun for one day,” he commented, then looked into the shadows. “Tom? Your opinion, please?”

Voldemort finally got to his feet, feeling a bit stiff, and walked forward into the light, between the two racks. He came to a stop at Harry’s side, then turned to face the Weasleys. Both of them somehow found the strength to exhibit fresh new signs of terror on seeing the Dark Lord himself, which made Voldemort smile.

“Harry, as always, I commend you, though this did take you rather longer than usual.”

Harry pouted adorably and tossed the whip aside, then said, “Yes, but their betrayal practically demands it.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, my sweet.”

Neither Weasley had the courage or the energy to actually attempt to comment on the endearment, or anything else for that matter.

“I think at this point you should be good to go with a quick killing curse,” Voldemort added. “Unless you’d like me to?”

“How about we share?” Harry suggested. “Pick one, it doesn’t matter which, and I’ll kill the other.”

“That’s very generous of you, Harry. Thank you.” Voldemort brought his wand into view, aimed it at Ronald, and cast.

Harry then gave Hermione one last smile, this one sweetly innocent, then raised his wand and spoke the fatal words.

Tidying up was a matter of putting the bodies in stasis, though Harry did take the time to gather up all the odd bits and pieces he had removed from Hermione and put them in a nice little reticule that could hang neatly from her wrist. A few more flicks of their wands cleaned up the spilled blood, and then they headed home for a luxurious shower.

Much later on Voldemort was having a splendid sort of dream. He and Harry were riding above London in a hot air balloon, randomly picking targets from the multitude of people scurrying about below on their everyday business, and awarding points for speed, accuracy, and creativity. He had just been about to point at a rather weedy-looking fellow headed toward Harrod’s and specify a change of hair to snakes when the sound of muffled crying caught his attention, causing him to look around in surprise.

It was about then that he jerked awake and oriented on that same sound, shaking off his feeling of lassitude to pull Harry close to him and begin smoothing the hair back from his face in an effort to calm him. “Harry, my sweet, what is wrong?” he asked gently.

Harry burrowed his face in Voldemort’s neck and curled his arms up between them, not speaking, though Voldemort could feel his mate’s warm tears splashing onto his skin. He almost felt like he was back in their early days, with no clue whatsoever for what to do. Voldemort switched to stroking Harry’s flank, only being sure that he really ought to avoid his mate’s back. “It’s all right, Harry,” he murmured, “you don’t have to explain if you don’t wish.”

They continued like that for several minutes before Harry managed to whisper, “I’m not a freak, am I?”

“Of course not, Harry,” he hastened to assure his mate soothingly. “You’re an incredible young man, with amazing skill and talent, not to mention a brilliant mind. Don’t you dare let that bitch’s words upset you. You know that’s exactly what she wanted.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am, with every fiber of my being. You are not a freak. Besides, even if you were, so would I be, so we could be freaks together. I’m not entirely human myself, Harry.”

That provoked a weak bout of laughter from his mate, which relieved him immensely.

“I feel so sad,” Harry said softly, his voice a bit distorted. “They were my best friends, and I trusted them so much and cared about them. How could they do that to me? I would have died to protect them.”

And that started a fresh round of tears, so Voldemort pulled Harry even closer, kissing his sleep-tangled hair and continuing to soothingly run his hand along his mate’s side. “You’re here now, my sweet,” he murmured, a part of him wondering just when he had become so . . . sensitive? Caring? “I will take care of you and let you take care of me. Nothing and no one will ever try to hurt you again if I have anything to say about it.”

“You promise?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“I promise, Harry. And I will affirm that promise every day if you need me to.” In truth, he felt a bit like his heart was breaking to see his mate in so much distress, and so unsure of himself. He wondered, briefly, if this was something like love, these strange things he was feeling. “I know it will never entirely be all right, but I will be with you every step of the way.”

Harry’s tears gradually subsided and his breathing deepened, letting Voldemort know that his mate had fallen back to sleep. But he stayed awake for quite a long time before he too returned to the arms of Morpheus, cradling Harry protectively.


	6. Lord Thanatos

“Harry, I’ve been thinking,” Voldemort said, wanting to distract his mate and possibly cheer him up. Harry had been quite mopey all day, and Voldemort could only assume his mate’s present mood was entirely connected to the events of the previous day, and even his breakdown of sorts the night before.

“Yes?” Harry replied absently, not looking up from the crossword puzzle he was working on.

“I’ve been thinking of changing my operations a bit,” he said. “And given that we’ve already discovered you are, in fact, a metamorphmagus, that would be very useful for what I have in mind.”

Harry glanced up at that, a spark of interest lighting his eyes for the first time that day.

“I was wondering if you’d like to become a dark lord in your own right, and help me to run my empire.”

Harry tucked his pencil into the puzzle book and set them aside, giving Voldemort his full attention.

“After all,” he continued, “you must be getting terribly bored with nothing much to do all day. I also thought I could arrange for a little demonstration so you could show my followers just what you’re capable of.”

“A dark lord?” Harry said thoughtfully, then bit his lip. “And what exactly does a dark lord do all day, Tom?”

Voldemort looked faintly sheepish when he said, “Well, there is rather a lot of paperwork involved, I must admit, but for you I was thinking more that you might consent to take over all training operations. I’ve been rather unhappy lately with how things have been going, and I think my Death Eaters need a bit of shaking up. I could continue to handle the espionage and political aspects.”

Harry tucked one leg underneath him and settled back in his chair. “If I did that, I’d need a name, wouldn’t I.”

“Yes,” Voldemort agreed.

Harry thought about it some more, then smiled impishly, something Voldemort was very happy to see. “I could prance about as Lord Thanatos.”

“The personification of death? I think that sounds very appropriate, Harry. Perhaps you might be persuaded to carry a scythe around just to really make people quake in fear.”

Harry chortled and nodded his head. Then he sobered and said, “Do you really mean that? You’d let me co-rule your dark army?”

“Of course. I have complete confidence in you, Harry. You are an integral part of my life, one that I cannot conceive of being without, and I value what you are able to contribute, should you wish to do so. I would be happy to share with you all that I have.”

Harry’s eyes got all shiny at that and suspiciously wet; he glanced away a second later.

When his mate didn’t say anything for several minutes Voldemort gently asked, “Have I said something to upset you?”

Harry’s gaze flew back to him instantly. “No! I’m . . . happy.”

Voldemort had a fairly good idea what was running through Harry’s head, but still wanted to lighten the mood again if possible. “Happy enough to come give me a kiss?”

His mate’s expression changed abruptly, going from vulnerable to lustful in a heartbeat. Then he tilted his head and said, “And what do I get out of it?”

Voldemort pretended to be shocked. “Are you saying my kisses don’t please you?”

Harry rose from his chair fluidly and advanced using a particularly slinky gait. “Oh, they do,” he said throatily, then settled onto Voldemort’s lap and clearly ordered, “You will play with my scales, Tom.”

“As you wish,” he murmured, and hastened to obey.

* * *

Harry spent the next week not only screwing about deciding on his new look, but spending an inordinate amount of time training with a scythe, a weapon he had not previously wielded. In the end he looked similar to how he had for the Weasleys, but his eyes were now pale and nearly colourless, giving his gaze an oddly dead quality that went splendidly with his translucent skin. He had also altered his facial structure a bit, now more closely resembling that which one might expect to see if one of Tolkien’s elves had come to life, and had retained the waterfall of black hair. He had even managed to make his ears a bit pointy.

The changes did not in any way diminish Voldemort’s attraction to his mate, though if pressed hard enough, he might possibly be persuaded to admit that he had been perfectly content with Harry’s true appearance, even if this one was devastatingly erotic in its own way. In point of fact, he was slightly worried that the Death Eaters would find Harry to be a little too attractive. But, on the other hand, once they realized exactly what Lord Thanatos was capable of, they might be too afraid of him to spare a moment for lustful thoughts.

And on that note, once Harry felt he was ready, Voldemort presented his mate with his very own office. He had been more than happy to set one up in the room next to his own and create a connecting door, not to mention arrange for Harry’s own set of cabinets and stacks of files and papers. He had long since changed the way he did things from a disorganized, fly-by-night type of operation into something more closely resembling a business, so the transfer went fairly smoothly in terms of physical things.

Harry bounced around his office for quite a while in a display of childish excitement and enthusiasm before settling down, leading Voldemort to believe he had been right in making the offer. Harry was so clearly happy to be given a job, one which he knew he could do well, and would once again give him a purpose in life. And this time it was a position of power, not blindly obedient subservience, which of course had been a complete waste of most of his talent and ability.

Voldemort had made a number of arrangements for Harry’s debut, having called for a general assembly. All Death Eaters were required to attend, and were presently gathered in the audience chamber, many seeming a bit puzzled at the two score of golems and Inferi that were grouped up in files of five over by one of the walls.

He looked at his mate, who nodded, stepped out into the chamber via the private door at the back and approached his throne-like chair, then gracefully took a seat. At once every minion prostrated themselves, heads bowed respectfully.

“You may rise,” he intoned, and waited until they had before saying, “Today is a very special day, my faithful friends. It is true we have come far in the last few years, leaving behind the wasteful habits of the past, and moving forward into an organization of individuals with a common purpose and goal. However, today we gain a new ally in our efforts against those who would attempt to bring our world down around our knees and destroy us all.

“Today I will present to you my ally, and co-ruler, and your new master. His word shall be as mine among you, and our opinion shall be as one. You will”—he paused to sweep a menacing gaze over the throng—“give him the same respect you do me, and the same measure of obedience. He will be taking over all operations pertaining to training, and his word on those matters shall be as law. Now, allow me to present Lord Thanatos.”

Harry slinked into the chamber and drifted to a stop next to Voldemort’s throne, sweeping his gaze out over the hall and making a number of them shudder at his glacial demeanor. He was dressed very similarly to how he had for the Weasleys, in fact, though Voldemort had, after much discussion, finally persuaded him to add a leather vest so that his scales were safely out of view. Harry had tried to argue that his hair would cover them, but Voldemort was having none of that, and Harry had flat out refused to try to morph them into hiding. 

When no one made any other sort of move Harry shook a wand into his hand and cast crucio on the closest Death Eater. After lifting the curse he said in a positively frigid voice, “Which part of you giving me the same respect as your master Lord Voldemort did all of you fail to comprehend?”

Everyone abruptly prostrated themselves. “How terribly kind of you to give me such a prompt and warm welcome,” Harry said dryly. “You may rise.”

Voldemort took back up the thread of power and said, “As a treat, my friends, Lord Thanatos has agreed to give you all a demonstration. As you have no doubt noticed, there are a number of constructs in the room, and they are here for exactly that purpose. Those of you in the front rank will also be a part of this demonstration, so the rest of you will now move back out of the way.”

He caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy in his peripheral vision and nearly laughed; the young man happened to be in the front row of Death Eaters and did not look at all happy about it. It took several minutes for their minions to sort themselves out, at which point Voldemort signaled the golems and Inferi to spread out in the center portion of the chamber to await the command to start. “Those of you who are a part of this demonstration will strive to the fullest to _disable_ Lord Thanatos. Obviously, the killing curse, dismemberment curses, and any other spells which would cause irreversible damage are forbidden.”

Harry rested a hand on Voldemort’s shoulder briefly, then produced a scythe seemingly out of thin air and advanced into the center of the hall, weapon held loosely in one hand. At his mate’s smirking nod Voldemort said simply, “Begin.”

Harry immediately disappeared from his spot, Malfoy slumping to the floor a moment later after being hit in the head with the handle of Harry’s scythe. Voldemort knew then that Harry had also noticed the young man’s reaction and had decided to have a little fun before he got down to business.

A second after that Harry backflipped through the air and landed in a crouch at the center of a small cluster of constructs. He whirled in place as he rose, expertly beheading three Inferi and two golems, then ducked away and popped up behind a few more to slice clean through them with his wicked blade.

Death Eaters on the periphery were openly gaping in surprise at the blur that was their new master, and those fighting against him were too busy trying to figure where he had gone to manage to get off any spells. Harry, in a fit of mischievousness, avoided the Death Eaters entirely after downing Malfoy and instead concentrated on the constructs, wielding his scythe like an extension of his own body.

It had not yet been ten minutes when Harry came to a stop in the center of the room and spun his weapon in one hand as though it weighed nothing, then crashed the butt into the floor before making the scythe disappear. He had not been hit once the entire time, not by a golem, an Inferius, or a Death Eater’s spell, nor had he ever once used his wand. Every last construct was either missing its head or split in half, and every Death Eater was sprawled out unconscious on the floor.

Voldemort smiled.

Unfortunately, pleased as he was by the demonstration and the effect it was having on their followers, it also meant he had lost another bet. Harry _had_ finished up before the ten minute mark, which meant he had to pay another forfeit. He really needed to stop letting Harry talk him into these things if he was always going to be the loser.

Harry stepped back onto the dais, paused long enough to conjure up a throne of his own, then regally took a seat. He was not even breathing hard. “Those currently on duty as training staff will present themselves to me in the meeting room tomorrow at two in the afternoon,” said Harry, then inclined his head at Voldemort.

“You are dismissed,” Voldemort said, then glared when one of them made a move toward helping one of the fallen. The room quickly cleared, leaving behind only the defeated.

Harry immediately laughed softly and got to his feet. “Well,” he said.

Voldemort sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, you win.”

“Naturally,” he said smugly. “I want my prize now. I’m _very_ hungry after that.”

Voldemort blinked, briefly flicked his gaze over the hall, then looked at Harry steadily.

“You’re not worried about them, are you? They’ll be out cold for long enough.” Harry began unfastening his vest, making short work of stripping it off and tossing it onto the seat of his throne, then sat down long enough to slip off his boots.

“I’m beginning to think you’re an exhibitionist, my sweet,” Voldemort murmured.

Harry laughed again as he shimmied out of his trousers and dropped those on his chair as well, then slinked over and began to free Voldemort’s already erect penis from his clothing. That made Harry make an appreciative noise in his throat and say, “And you’re not?”

Within moments Harry had impaled himself and pulled his lover into a passionate kiss, managing to grind up against him as he rode Voldemort’s cock, and Voldemort was doing his best to reach between them to make absolutely certain his mate received more stimulation than just rubbing up against his clothing, not to mention reaching back to slide his hand over Harry’s ass and back possessively.

They were both getting quite close to climax when a sound made them break apart slightly and glance toward it, then snort and return to kissing each other hungrily. Malfoy had awoken earlier than expected, no doubt because he had been knocked unconscious at the beginning of the battle. Not less than a minute later Harry threw his head back and let out a high, keening cry of pleasure as he came, which incited Voldemort’s own violent orgasm.

A short time later, once Voldemort’s breathing had resumed its normal pace and Harry was beginning to rouse himself from where he had slumped against Voldemort’s chest, they both came to the gradual realization that Draco was kneeling not far away, a glazed look in his eyes and very little awareness in his expression.

Voldemort and Harry exchanged a puzzled look, then Harry extricated himself and got to his feet, cast cleansing charms, and began pulling his clothing back on with a faint moue of distaste. Voldemort straightened himself up quickly and rose, staring at Malfoy intently, then shook himself slightly when Harry said in a low voice, “What’s his problem?”

“I’m beginning to wonder. . . .”

“Yes?”

“I think,” Voldemort said not much above a whisper, “I recall seeing something about the effects of bonding such that you gain much more control over the thrall you exert. However, given what we were doing. . . .”

Harry arched a brow, glanced at Malfoy, then planted a hand on his hip. “You think I had no control before, I guess to make sure I’d get fed somehow, though I gained control because of the bond, but during sex I just broadcast my little heart out, and that’s why Draco looks like he’s been sunk so far deep in lust he can’t see straight?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“Interesting,” Harry commented. “So what do we do with him? That’s twice now he’s played voyeur.”

“Yes, and how coincidental that it keeps happening during bet payouts,” Voldemort muttered, then produced his wand. Two quick spells in succession knocked Malfoy out and levitated him. “I plan to investigate his memories.”

“All right. I’m going to go watch some of the training sessions. You know, get a feel for how things are currently being done so I can figure out what needs tweaking. Nudge me if something comes up?”

Voldemort nodded and strolled off with Malfoy in tow, taking the young man to his office, though not his dungeon. Draco was planted in a chair, and Voldemort settled himself comfortably behind his desk before proceeding to wend his way through Malfoy’s memories since the time he had inadvertently walked in on them the first time.

He could be pleased about one thing; Malfoy had never dared lift his head during that first encounter, so the only impression he had was of dark hair and pale skin when it came to Harry. Well, several things, he supposed. After all, Malfoy had behaved himself on a number of accounts. He had also not told a soul about what he’d seen.

For this instance, though, Voldemort had trouble trying to interpret the young man’s memory of the event. It began normally, with Malfoy regaining consciousness, but after that it was like he’d been struck completely dumb. Voldemort could only assume his theory was correct; Harry had lost or released all control of his thrall and rendered the unfortunate Malfoy insensible.

He quickly came to the conclusion that all doors would be firmly locked and barricaded before he would agree to give Harry another potentially exhibitionistic type of reward.

Voldemort sighed and gazed at Draco speculatively. He hadn’t actually done anything punishable, not that that would normally stop a man like him from meting out a bit of pain. In the end he decided that Malfoy was simply a temporary research subject, woke him up, then summarily dismissed him.

If Malfoy managed to catch them at it a third time, though. . . .

* * *

Harry amused himself greatly by slowly striding back and forth along one side of a training ring that was in use. His expression was quite forbidding, and his gaze keen, as he took in the sight of a squadron of trainees practicing against slowly moving wooden targets. He wanted to roll his eyes; they had horrible aim for pity’s sake, and he was beginning to despair of a place like Hogwarts ever teaching children how magic was and could be used in real-life situations.

The way this lot looked, Hogwarts would be better off teaching everyone housekeeping charms, cooking, potions, and how to apparate. But that was making him feel a touch depressed so he mentally shook himself and went back to studying the trainees. A short time later they hauled themselves off, so Harry approached the sergeant who remained behind.

“My lord,” the man said quickly and bowed.

Harry inclined his head briefly. “Who is up next?”

“A more advanced group, my lord, practicing against golems programmed to act as muggles.”

“All right,” he said equitably. “Carry on, then, and try to pretend I’m not even here. I’m simply observing for a few hours.”

“Yes, my lord.” The sergeant bowed again and moved away to set things up.

The next day Harry was seated at the head of the table in the meeting room and opened things by saying in a very deliberate way, “We’re going to be making a few little changes to how we do things around here.”

That set off a round of restless movement, though no one actually dared to speak.

“Now, you have all had a chance to think about yesterday’s demonstration, so we will begin with a discussion of that very event.” Harry turned to the man sitting to his right and said, “You, what’s your name?”

“Euphrates Melkanson, my lord.”

“We’ll begin with you. Share with everyone your thoughts on the demonstration yesterday.”

“My lord, regarding just you or. . . ?”

Harry favored the man with a slight smile. “The participating Death Eaters as well.”

Melkanson nodded, took a moment to collect his thoughts, then said, “My lord, you had a number of advantages in that fight, among which were speed, flexibility, and what seemed to be an extreme awareness of those around you, and you rarely stayed still long enough for anyone to be sure of their aim. You wielded your weapon of choice with exceptional skill, and I do not recall seeing you ever use your wand.”

He hesitated for a second, then continued, “I believe that was partly to prove that we need not consider ourselves completely helpless in the unfortunate event that we are disarmed.”

Harry smiled approvingly at Melkanson, which seemed to hearten the fellow a bit.

“As for the Death Eaters, my lord, they were disorganized and unaware. Those involved did not attempt to form teams, nor did they use the constructs properly as cover or even in any attempts to ambush you. I can imagine a scenario there where one might have stood or crouched behind a construct and waited for you to pause long enough to take care of it, then cast while you were doing so. None of them did that I could see, and it was clear you were leaving our men for last.”

Harry did the slightest of double takes at that, then said, “Interesting.” He pointed at a fellow part way down the table and said, “Name?”

“Yuhidu Wallander, my lord.”

“And what, if anything, do you have to add to that?”

“My lord, any of those men could have used the constructs you defeated as a method to try to distract you. Pieces could have been spelled as projectiles sent at you by one or several while another used that opportunity to try to get in a disabling spell.”

“Also interesting. You?”

“Alexej Denby, my lord, and speaking as a member of the training staff, I think those participating did very poorly indeed, and we should all be ashamed of ourselves for letting them be trained that badly.”

Harry arched a brow, then gave a chill smile. “Does anyone else have anything to add?” He waited a short time, gazing at each of the people at the table, then continued, “All right. I spent some time yesterday watching some of the squads in training. I must say, I was very disappointed. However, it is true that these young men and women are not being trained in the same manner that I was, so perhaps I cannot expect them to even begin to approach my level of skill.

“Frankly, I don’t think any of them would survive the experience. Now, there will be a review of every single able-bodied man and woman in this army. I want accurate information on every last one of you. And yes, I will be judging against myself in that respect. I get the distinct impression that many of our people could not hit the broad side of a barn without a map and a spotlight to point the way.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, gentlemen,” Harry said, then leaned forward. “The first time I ever touched a scythe was one week ago. I bought that weapon at a muggle farming supply shop.”

Happily, the implications were not lost on any of them. Quite a number paled at the admission, and several looked like they wanted to wet themselves.

“Our fighters will learn, to the best of their ability, how to use at least some non-magical weaponry. You see, there is something none of you thought to mention during your comments about my little demonstration. Muggle methods have their uses. We are all of us, muggle and wizard, human. We may be able to claim superiority due to our enhanced bodies and lifespans, and the fact that we can wield magic, but that does not and should not negate the fact that we are still human. The fact that a muggle might have been the one to invent the knife does not make that weapon useless.

“To disdain what has worked for centuries, and continues to work to this day, is utter foolishness, and I will not have our people so blind and so conceited as to let them discard the past as a waste of time, or as being beneath them. And this business of merely making sure a fighter can aim in sort of the general direction of a target will _stop_.

“So, as I said, we’ll be making a few little changes around here. Now, which of you has anything to do with torturing?” Several hands raised briefly. “Fine,” Harry said and produced several red bar pins from his pocket and slid them down the table. “Wear those. Supply?” More bar pins appeared, this time blue, and he carried on for another minute or two like that until finally he said, “And are any of you skilled in purely physical combat, such as martial arts?” A few white pins were tossed onto the table several seconds later.

“You will always wear those while within the confines of this compound. While I have a nearly perfect memory, I want to be able to tell at a glance exactly who is under my immediate command and what you do, even if your faces are covered. They are not magical in any way and are purely decorative. If any of you are subject to sudden fits of stupidity, I want you to think long and hard about whether or not you wish to retain your positions, or if you would feel happier stepping down to a less stressful role.

“I want intelligent, thoughtful men on the training staff, who can recognize a person’s strengths and weaknesses as applicable and work with that information to produce the best fighter that person can be. Now, questions or comments?”

There was a brief silence, telling Harry that he had done an adequate job at the least of cowing them, then one of them said, “My lord?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“My lord, would you be willing at some point to give a second demonstration showcasing magic, or even a combination of magic and weaponry?”

Harry thought about that for a moment, then gave another chill smile. “I might be persuaded to do so. After all, I do like to get in my exercise, and I must say, my present training location is a touch cramped. It may well be that I might decide to begin working out outside on occasion, where anyone who wishes to observe may do so. However, if that should happen, you would all do well to point out to your trainees that watching me is not an excuse to become despondent at their own lack of skill in comparison, and instead a height to aspire to.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Anyone else?”

“My lord”—it was Melkanson—“when would you like to begin your reviews?”

“This Monday. That will give people a chance to put in a little extra effort first. One or several of you will be setting up the rotation, allowing a half hour for each person to start. That means eight people in the morning, starting at eight, and another eight in the afternoon, starting at one. Those people who hold down outside jobs during the week will simply have to be scheduled in for a weekend day, or in extreme cases, the evening.”

Melkanson nodded so Harry looked around the table again; there were no further questions. “All right. My nominal office is directly next to that of Lord Voldemort. If I am not there and you cannot find me within the compound, then you will leave a note. If the matter is urgent, you will attempt to gain audience with Lord Voldemort, and if that is not possible you had better hope you can figure it out for yourself. You will, after all, be explaining your actions to me after the fact. Right, dismissed.” Everyone pushed back and rose, then filed out quietly, so Harry decided he’d had enough for one day and headed home.

* * *

“And how did our first day go?” Voldemort inquired silkily.

Harry slumped into his chair at a slight angle and tossed one leg over the arm. “I’d like to think I scared the piss out of them. I’d also like to think I made them think for once about what they’ve been doing. Or rather, what not. One of them admitted that they’ve been doing a piss poor job and ought to all be ashamed of themselves.

“In any case, I’ve told them to wrangle up a schedule for me so I can start assessing everyone to see where they really are in terms of skill, actual training, and so on. The showing yesterday was bad enough, but what I saw while observing some of the recruits was just dismal.”

Then he furrowed his brow. “I gave them until Monday, which is when I’ll actually start. I have a week to flip through all that lovely paperwork you saddled me with, or perhaps have some fun.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I suppose I could trip over Lupin or Tonks,” Harry said, looking sort of thoughtful.

“I will remind you of your thoughts on checking with Gringotts about any properties you may own. That is something else you could do if you felt like going out.”

That made Harry look even more thoughtful. “It’s only about three, right?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps I’ll go now. Is that all right with you?”

“Certainly, though I would like to spy if you don’t mind.” Naturally, Voldemort did not like his mate leaving the compound if he could not keep a mental eye on him, and he knew he was being irrational on that score. 

Harry bounced to his feet and snatched his clothes back up from where he tossed them untidily, then paused. “I suppose I should wear something more Harry-ish, huh. And fix my face and all that.” He snorted. “What a bother,” he said, then disappeared into the bedroom for a while. When he returned he looked like his natural self again. “Say, Tom, you’re going to have to clue me in on this whole Dark Mark thing soon.”

Voldemort blinked slowly, then nodded. “Yes, you’re quite right. I will make sure of it before you start in on your assessments, my sweet.”

Harry flashed him a smile and came over to straddle his lap, then engage him in an appreciative kiss. Voldemort was aching with need when Harry pulled away and stood up, a rather devious smile on his lips, then whipped up his hood and sauntered off.

The goblin working for Harry at Gringotts was more than happy to show him a much more detailed accounting of his holdings, and in fact, pointed out that Harry did own several properties, one of which was № 12 Grimmauld Place, courtesy of Sirius.

And thanks to his parents, he also had a second home in northwest London near Rickmansworth, a property in Wakefield, and of course, the ruins of the cottage at Godric’s Hollow. Harry left the bank in the mood to check out the closest unknown, to see what sort of condition it was in, and hastened off.

When he arrived the first thing both of them noticed was that the house was occupied. Harry apparently found it a very prudent idea at that point to wander off out of sight, find a nice place where he could be guaranteed some privacy, then alter his appearance and clothing.

He spent another minute or two transfiguring some nearby rubbishy bits into a clipboard, papers, and a pencil, then purposely strode back to the building in question, boldly marched up to the front door, and rang the bell.

The woman who answered looked vaguely familiar. When she spoke, though, it was sort of a done deal. “Wotcher,” she greeted him cheerfully.

Harry blinked, squinted down at his clipboard, then looked back at Tonks. “Something tells me, miss, that you are not Hiroko Yamaguchi?”

She laughed merrily and shook her head. “I think you’ve got the wrong house.”

“You don’t have a house mate by that name, then?” he asked.

“Not a chance,” she responded.

Harry sighed and frowned at his clipboard, then aimed an apologetic smile at her. “Yes, I guess I do. They must have given me the wrong address. Or perhaps you’ve not been here long and she’s moved recently?”

“That’s possible, I suppose, as I haven’t been,” Tonks admitted.

Harry nodded, rubbed his forehead, then said, “I’m very sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for your time and patience. I hope you have a nice evening.”

“No worries,” she said cheerfully, then backed up and closed the door.

Harry took his leave and walked off down the street, chucking his props into a bin after he had turned a corner, then ducked into a convenient spot to change looks and pull up a concealing hood again. A few minutes later he was striding into the sitting room, a rather pissed off look on his face.

Once he was settled he said, “That woman is living in _my_ house? That’s it, Tom, she’s the next one to go.”

Voldemort simply nodded and smiled.

* * *

Associated Snapshots: [Freak](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205212), [Dark Marks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205215)


	7. Trapping Tonks

“The most difficult part,” Harry said thoughtfully, “will be getting my hands on her. Once I do, I’m sure I can come up with something interesting in the way of payback.”

“Actually, I might have an idea for capturing her,” Voldemort said with equal thoughtfulness. “There’s something there, I just need to wait for it to filter up. Still, insofar as her actual torture goes, I’m sure you can find plenty of ammunition and inspiration in her memories.”

Harry nodded absently. “Yes, that does help a lot, knowing exactly _why_ they made that decision, each of them. I mean, it’s bad enough they did at all. In some ways, it’s like feeling the knife all over again each time I understand what made them do it, but I need to know, and I need that information in order to devise something appropriate.

“Sometimes, I feel—I feel like I should just not bother, that vengeance is wrong, and weak, but, a part of me won’t be denied. They tried to break me in every way possible, to tear me down and rebuild me into their perfect little soldier. And for what? Money. Jealousy. An opportunity for sadism. Fear, even. Revenge on an innocent. Laziness. Petty little reasons. Idiocy. All of it’s fucking idiocy! Am I going to hell for this, Tom?”

Voldemort blinked slowly at the abrupt change and said, “If so, Harry, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Well then fine! I’ll go, then, if I must. I really have to wonder at times if there’s such a thing as God. If there’s a heaven and a hell. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it. If you’re with me, Tom, I’ll be okay. I will take my revenge, in the nastiest, most crushing ways I can think of, and be happy in it, until every last one of them is dead by my hand, and then maybe I can live as me. Well, whatever my name is these days. So long as I have you, I’ll be all right. You’ll . . . take care of me.”

He went silent, looking really quite thoughtful, then said, “I wouldn’t mind being able to nail Fudge and a few others as well.”

“Now, Harry, I thought you were only going after those who were in on the plan. What is your justification for someone like Fudge?”

“You mean besides hating that man with a passion? I’m not sure yet, Tom, but I might find a reason. No, I agree, it’s not justified when all I really have at this moment is the knowledge that he tried to get me expelled. That he didn’t keep a leash on his dogs and mouthed off about me at the Ministry so said bitch decided to learn a few new tricks and attempt to get me Kissed, cause brain damage, use crucio. . . . She did use a blood quill. Actually, I suppose that’s Umbridge on my list.”

“I won’t dispute her. Who else are you considering, then, just in theory?”

Harry shrugged a shoulder in an irritated kind of way. “Rita Skeeter. But she’s just a slanderous bitch, I guess. That reminds me, I wonder if she ever registered as an animagus.”

Voldemort tucked that bit of information away for later, just in case, and opted to change the subject a bit. “We need to do something about Moody’s corpse. And later on, your former friends. Do you have any ideas on that?”

Harry inhaled audibly, then let his breath out in a gust. “Don’t do a thing for Ron and Hermione. I get the feeling they’ll come in quite useful a bit down the road. Moody, though. . . .” He summoned some paper and snatched the pencil from the puzzle book he kept on the side table, dashed off a few lines of writing, then handed the page over.

Voldemort was quite curious when he looked down to read.

> ###### Dear Minister Fudge,
> 
> Please find attached one deceased magical person formerly of the Auror department, and which we are returning to you as per article 14, subsection c, paragraph 6 of the Magical Toxic Waste Disposal Act.
> 
> Apparently we played a bit too roughly with our little toy and he expired on us, so he’s simply not of much use to us any longer. Quite a shame, really. Perhaps it had something to do with his age?
> 
> We promise to take much better care of our captives in the future as we do need them for training purposes and it’s such a pain to have to keep hunting down new ones when it’s time for us to learn and perfect our torture techniques.
> 
> ###### Cheerio,  
>  Death Eater Training Squad #HGF937224
> 
> ###### P.S. Oh, and would you be a dear and arrange his funeral? We’re afraid his magical eye and leg were lost at some point so you’ll have to cover that up somehow. Thanks muchly and best wishes on your reelection campaign!

Voldemort burst out laughing. The only question remaining was . . . when?

* * *

The door opened, someone stepped in, shut it, then prostrated themselves, and Voldemort just about swore out loud or hexed their head off on the spot. All he had wanted was a pleasant little lunch with his mate. Was that so damn much to ask? He had been well aware of the fact that most people still in the compound were presently eating in the dining hall, so what on earth was someone doing bothering him?

He broke his kiss with Harry and glanced over to see a head of white blond hair. His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might shatter, then he realized it was not actually Draco, but instead his father. Voldemort could vaguely recall having sent the man on an extended mission to Bulgaria and Lucius had probably only just returned, which would explain why he hadn’t been seen lately, such as at the demonstration.

Oddly enough, Malfoy did not appear to be other than normal, which made Voldemort idly wonder if Harry only broadcast if he _knew_ there were others present, in sort of a sadistic power play, or possibly to ensure that he would not be interrupted in his feeding.

Voldemort heaved an inward sigh and raised a finger to his lips, then stilled his movements abruptly, waiting until Harry opened his eyes and looked at him in needy confusion. Keeping his motion for silence, Voldemort jerked his head toward Malfoy, and after Harry had looked, winked at him and barked, “Malfoy! You will not so much as twitch until I’m ready to deal with you unless you feel like today is a good day to die.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius whispered.

Voldemort leaned in close to whisper directly in his mate’s ear, “Harry, my sweet, please try not to broadcast, all right? Keep a firm grip on your thrall. I would like for Lucius to be sober after we’re done with lunch.”

Harry nodded slightly so Voldemort went back on the attack, beginning by nipping his mate’s earlobe and provoking a deep moan, then swallowing his renewed cries of pleasure with another kiss as he began thrusting again into the sweet warmth of his mate.

And, apparently, the fact that there was another person present had a definite effect on his mate. Harry became a bit more wild against him, more frantic, and Voldemort did his level best to urge his mate toward completion so that he could let go his own restraint and properly feed him.

When that moment came Harry broke free of the kiss and tossed back his head, black hair spilling out in graceful arcs, and his mate once again bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Voldemort suspected, though, even as he lost control and emptied himself into his lover, that Harry was actually trying to be quiet.

Several minutes later Voldemort was more than ready to deal with his errant minion. Harry chose, once he had dressed, to perch on the corner of Voldemort’s desk. But before he did so, he sidled up to Voldemort, went up on his toes so he could be a skosh closer to his lover’s ear, then whispered teasingly, “And you know damn well I had nothing to do with it this time.”

“Malfoy!” Voldemort barked. “Take a seat.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius said quietly, then rose and settled himself in a chair, not quite raising his gaze high enough to ever meet the eyes of either of them.

Voldemort leaned forward, hands on his desk, and said in a deadly quiet tone, “Lucius, my dear friend, I am truly hoping you can explain something for me. You see, it seems that lately you and your son keep popping up at very discourteous moments and seriously testing my patience and temper. Is there some curse your family line suffers from, Lucius, that I should be aware of? Do tell me, because if there is, we will simply have to take care of this little problem, even if it means separating your heads from your bodies!”

He rolled his head from side to side, several sharp retorts echoing strangely through the room as tendons released their tension, then lowered himself to his seat. He continued in a far more normal tone, “I presume you have just now returned from Bulgaria, Lucius?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Splendid. Now, as you were unable to be here during the general assembly not long ago, there is something you need to be aware of. Raise your eyes, Lucius,” he ordered, “and look upon the face of your _other_ master, Lord Thanatos. He is my ally, my co-ruler, and you will treat him as you do me, with every possible courtesy. Am I making myself clear, Lucius?”

“Always, my lord,” Lucius said, keeping his gaze on Harry. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord. I hope I may be of service to you in the future.”

Harry inclined his head slowly to the side and stared at Lucius with slightly wide eyes; Voldemort thought the effect was quite creepy. “Greetings, Lucius Malfoy,” Harry finally said, “and I’m sure . . . you will be.” Then he slid his gaze over to Voldemort and asked, “This one belongs to you?”

“Yes, politics mainly. He has very little to do with training,” Voldemort explained briefly, even though he knew Harry was simply speaking to talk.

“As you say,” Harry said. “Do you wish me to remain?”

“If you desire,” Voldemort responded.

“I do desire,” Harry said, then flipped back his hair and went still.

“Lucius, report.”

Malfoy flicked his gaze over to Voldemort and began to speak, detailing his mission and the results in clear, concise speech, never once letting his attention or eyes stray from his first master. It was getting quite close to the end of the usual lunch hour when he wound up his report and indicated that he would have a written version ready as quickly as possible.

Voldemort nodded absently, then shot a look at Harry before turning back to Malfoy. “You are dismissed for the moment, Lucius, but don’t wander off too far. I might need you again shortly.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the man said, then rose and bowed to them both.

Just before Lucius went to step through the door Harry asked quietly, “And does this one know how to be discreet, cosire?”

Lucius faltered for a split second before continuing on and closing the door quietly behind him.

Voldemort turned to his mate with a questioning gaze. “Cosire?”

Harry arched a brow and smiled slightly. “I’m not about to trip over my tongue constantly saying Lord Voldemort. I can’t imagine you’d want to handle Lord Thanatos frequently. So why not a generic term bastardized from co-ruler strictly for our use? Besides, it also implies that we’re _such_ good friends.”

“Interesting.” Voldemort thought about for a few minutes, then nodded. “Why not? Now, about Lucius. His return has solidified that idea I was sitting on as regards your desire to bring in Tonks.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Fudge is known to be a bit . . . lazy when it comes to his power.” He smiled when Harry snorted rudely. “Lucius can generally talk him into whatever we need at any given time, either with words or coin. It seems to me that we could use him to accompany you to the Ministry and have Fudge sign documents transferring Tonks to the Department of Mysteries, in the care of the Unspeakables. After all, she is known to be a clumsy girl, is she not?”

Harry furrowed his brow and nodded slowly.

“Not a very good thing for an auror, now is that. She is ostensibly transferred on his order, into _your_ care. His signature will override any objections Bones has to the appropriation of one of her people. We can easily fake credentials for you as an Unspeakable. You head off to the auror department and pick her up. Invite her to lunch, possibly, to discuss her new situation.”

“Except, of course, she won’t be going to a restaurant,” Harry said.

“Of course.”

Harry flashed him a quick grin and nodded. “I do like the way your mind works, Tom. Shall we call blondie back, then?”

* * *

Harry was ushered into the domain of the minister with Lucius at his side. He was, in appearance, an extremely nondescript sort, with the type of face that was utterly forgettable about ten seconds after one lost sight of it. He was mildly surprised to note that Percy was nowhere to be seen, but mentally shrugged it off as they stepped through the door into the minister’s office.

He gave Fudge a blandly cordial smile and bowed slightly, then took the seat he was waved into without a word. As Lucius dazzled Fudge with his usual flair for social graces, Harry unobtrusively slipped one hand into his pocket, waited until he felt a slight pressure, then carefully pulled it back out; sitting on his hand was a small beetle. By the time Lucius had taken a seat of his own the beetle had disappeared from view.

“So, Lucius,” Fudge said jovially. “What brings you here today?”

Lucius unleashed one of the chilly smiles he seemed to be famous for and replied urbanely, “I was in the neighborhood, and as it has been quite some time since we’ve visited, I thought I would drop by to see you so we can catch up. As it happens, I was on my way here when I ran across my companion and came to understand that he wished to speak with you on a trifling matter, so naturally I brought him along. I knew you wouldn’t mind, Cornelius, as it’s rather a worthwhile request.”

Fudge paused for a moment, his gaze starting to slide sideways, then looked over at Harry and said, “Your name again?”

Harry let one corner of his mouth curl up slightly; it wasn’t like it had been mentioned to begin with. “Justus Bane, minister, at your service. An Unspeakable within the Department of Mysteries.”

“Bane you say? Are you any relation to Balfour Bane?”

“Yes, sir. I’m very flattered that you recognize my family line,” Harry said smoothly. “It is not everyone who would.”

“Yes, yes.” Fudge paused again, his eyes half closing for a moment, then said, “What was it you wanted, then? We’ll just get that out of the way first so Lucius and I can have a nice chat.”

“Certainly, sir,” he replied. “It has come to our attention that one of the aurors presently on staff, a Miss Nymphadora Tonks, happens to have two rather unusual qualities. She is, for one, a metamorphmagus, and that is something that interests us greatly within our group. Also, she is reportedly an exceptionally clumsy girl, which we find a peculiar trait for someone employed in that position.

“We would like, sir, with your gracious permission, to have the young lady transferred to our department so that we may . . . investigate more deeply her very rare talent, and see how that might benefit us all.” Harry paused, nearly frowning when Fudge again looked almost like he was about to doze off, then continued on as smoothly as he could.

“As it stands, we are aware that Madam Bones may seek to block our efforts for the rather selfish reason of not wishing to train new personnel. That brings me to you, sir, in the hopes that you will exercise your considerable judgment and sign a transfer order to hurry things along, and cut through all the bureaucratic nonsense.” He felt a faint brush against his hand, so he curled his fingers slightly, then waited until he felt the beetle take position. A few seconds later it was back in his pocket.

Fudge had not yet responded so Lucius took up the conversational thread by saying, “My dear Cornelius, it sounds simple enough. Give the man what he wants and then we can get down to business, you and I.”

Fudge shook himself slightly and smiled at Lucius, then turned to Harry and said, “Of course! Where’s the paperwork, young man? Bones can be such a tiresome woman, always yammering on and boring me half to death with her witless chatter. I can certainly understand why you’d want to go over her head.”

Harry nobly refrained from commenting and instead reached into the pocket stitched to the inside breast of his robes and removed a set of papers, then placed them on the desk and pushed them forward. Fudge quickly snatched up a quill and signed with a flourish and dated it, then pushed them back over with a beaming smile.

“There we go!”

Harry retrieved the paperwork and rose to his feet. “My sincere gratitude, minister, and thank you for your time and attention. Mr Malfoy, I do hope we meet again.”

After a quick bow to each man to satisfy social dictates, Harry quietly removed himself from the office and made his way out of the Ministry, then ducked down an alley and found a quiet spot. The beetle was once again removed from his pocket, this time placed on a narrow ledge, and then Harry produced a key and put that right next to the insect. He smiled, arched a brow, the headed back to the Ministry for the second round of fun.

The first place he went was the records office to have an official copy made of the document he carried. They verified the signature as genuine and promptly made a copy for him, then waved him off with a smile. Harry then headed for the auror department and stopped the first person he saw inside. That man, at least, took the time to check credentials before pointing Harry toward where Tonks was situated.

She was seated at a very messy desk, the half walls surrounding her area covered with pinned-up papers and the occasional photograph, not to mention several take-away menus. And at that, Tonks was presently pouring over a menu, causing Harry to believe she was trying to decide what to have for lunch.

“Miss Tonks,” he said quietly, startling a jump out of her. She quickly whirled her chair around to stare at him with wide eyes. “On behalf of the minister and the Department of Mysteries, it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that you have been transferred, and henceforth will be with the Unspeakables.”

“What!?” Her expression was a mixture of several things: dismay, surprise, uncertainty, and even excitement. Harry wondered if part of it was the fact that it was almost unheard of for a person to be transferred into the Department of Mysteries without a year’s worth of paperwork and red tape. It was also true that she might be gobsmacked over mention of the Unspeakables given that information about them was guarded zealously.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but could you repeat that, please?”

Harry gave her a slight smile and said, “You are no longer an auror, Miss Tonks.”

“Oh. Oh my. I did hear you correctly, then.”

“I can see that this is quite a shock for you, miss, and I understand that it is abrupt. I did notice you were considering your options for the noon meal, so perhaps you will consent to join me for lunch, during which I will attempt to begin easing you into your new circumstances with the least distress.”

She frowned in confusion, then said, “The paperwork is already done?”

“Yes, miss. I have a copy of the transfer order if you wish to see one.”

She shook her head. “Call me Tonks. And yeah, please, can I see a copy?”

Harry nodded and handed it over. They had made sure the wording was appropriately vague on most accounts, but it did clearly state that Tonks belonged to the Unspeakables from that point on.

She skimmed through it quickly, then look back up. “I don’t know if I should feel happy or upset. This is an amazing opportunity, though,” she said as she laid the copy on her desk. “You said something about lunch? I’m starving. I can always come pack up a few things from here later on.”

“Certainly. And after lunch, I will introduce you to your new work area. I know a wonderful little place not far from here, with excellent Thai cuisine, though if you prefer there is a Chinese restaurant I frequent also close by.”

“That sounds brilliant!” she enthused. “Let’s go.”

Harry led her along that same alley, as it could legitimately be used as a shortcut, and before they were halfway along he had knocked her, an auror, completely unconscious and portkeyed her to the dungeon.

* * *

Lucius stepped in and closed the door, then made the customary obeisance.

“Rise, Lucius, and take a seat.” A few seconds later he said, “Report.”

“My lord, I remained with Fudge and had lunch with the man, then made a few further visits within the Ministry and allowed certain people to overhear my comments on the girl’s new situation. Arthur Weasley was one of them. Once I was sure that word would get around, I returned here immediately.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said. “Lord Thanatos has informed me that Fudge was acting somewhat strangely during his visit. Are you able to shed any light on this?”

“Not entirely, my lord. Fudge has always been a bit peculiar during our meetings in his office, and that has made it easier for me to talk him around to certain things or prompt him into making the decisions you desire. It was not always like _this_ , however, so he either has done or is doing something to affect his faculties for short periods of time.”

“Such as drugs?”

“I do not know, my lord. I have seen no evidence of anything in particular. It is possible, I suppose.”

Voldemort rubbed his chin and sat back, truly wishing to help Harry if possible, and find a viable excuse for his mate to indulge in his desire to kill the man. Then he nearly laughed at his reasoning; after all, he was advocating seeking justification? He, the—a—dark lord? Still, he did not wish Harry to become a man who killed on whim so it behooved them both for him to keep his mate grounded and as rational as possible. If that meant having to argue against a case for death, so be it.

“For how long has he been like this?”

Lucius glanced off to the right, appearing to consider. A minute or so later he looked back at his master and said, “At least five years, my lord, perhaps a bit more. Certainly not until after the Triwizard Tournament.”

Voldemort sat forward and narrowed his eyes, seriously wishing they had Skeeter’s report already, as she might actually know something of a more concrete nature. “Lucius, you will use that delightfully smooth public persona of yours and find out exactly how often Albus Dumbledore has been to see the minister since the tournament. You will also obtain an accounting of every single decree Fudge has made since that time, especially those pertaining to Harry Potter in some way.”

He was mildly surprised to see a faint look of consternation pass over Lucius’s face.

“My lord, I. . . ?”

“What is it? You do not usually have difficulties when speaking to me. Out with it!”

Lucius looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment, then straightened up in his chair and lifted his chin. “My lord, I must wonder about your renewed interest in Harry Potter.”

Voldemort sat back again and gave Lucius a considering look. “My dear Lucius, are you trying to intimate that you fear I might be sliding back down that slippery slope of complete obsession? Is that it?” When Malfoy could not seem to bring himself to respond he said, “Do not trouble yourself. Simply obtain the information I require. The matter of Harry Potter has already been decided, so there is no need for you to worry on my behalf.”

Harry chose that moment to slink in through the connecting door and perch on the edge of the desk. He gave Lucius a faint nod and then said, “I believe our guest is ready, cosire. Any time you wish to join me would be splendid.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said. “I hope you aren’t too attached to your niece, Lucius. I don’t think she’s going to fare too well under our thoughtful care. Get started on that research, and alert me immediately if you learn that Dumbledore has decided to approach Fudge over the reassignment of one of his people.” He pulled open a drawer and removed a set of two small objects, then handed one to Malfoy. “Use that only if he appears unexpectedly while you’re there. Otherwise report to me as usual. You may go.”

“Yes, my lord. I will begin immediately.” Lucius rose and bowed to them both, then quietly slipped out.

Harry looked at him and said, “Is he that useful to you?”

Voldemort took a moment to decipher that, then said, “Yes. He is one of my best operatives, actually. Useful enough, certainly, that I allow him a slight bit of leeway in how he interacts with me. It also helps that he generally has a very firm grip on his temper, and occasionally serves to make me sit back and think about things before I go off on a rampage.”

Harry nodded and replied pertly, “If I were the type I might be jealous. But that’s nice. In any case, I think I’ve hit upon a much more pleasant way to sublimate your temper, my dear Lord Voldemort.”

He smiled broadly and got to his feet. “Far more than merely pleasant, my sweet. Shall we go interrogate our latest guest?”

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did, as it turned out, decide that a little chat was in order with Minister Fudge, and Lucius had been able to deliver information on when the man would be appearing. Dumbledore had chosen, for whatever reason, to go through the normal channels and set up an appointment with the minister, which was all that much better for them.

Dumbledore was probably annoyed that he now had an Order member he could not call on with little to no notice, which made her value drop drastically in some respects. And her no longer being an auror meant she would not be among those to answer calls requiring them, and therefore not be in a position to report back anything of interest.

Harry had visited the vault he had set up and read through, with Voldemort spying, the report Rita Skeeter had left in place of her payment. They were both surprised and pleased to realize that she had informed them of exactly why Fudge was acting so strangely, though the very idea of it made them both slightly nauseated.

Minister Fudge, self-proclaimed darling of the Ministry and the media, had a very naughty little secret. His assistant, Percy Weasley, had been situated under the desk thanks to an odd little trap door which allowed him to more or less comfortably stand up. It placed his head in the exact perfect position to be able to fellate the minister, which is exactly what had been going on while Harry was visiting, and explained Fudge’s odd lapses.

They could only imagine that the trap door connected to a tunnel of sorts, allowing Percy to unobtrusively slip in and out to ‘administer’ his little heart out in the course of his duties. Harry’s thoughts on the matter leaned toward wondering if the breakdown that had begun at around the time of the tournament, or just after, had produced a Percy Weasley who was very, very determined to retain his job.

Harry had wanted to laugh hysterically and throw up at the same time over the idea of a Percy that was willing to whore himself to his boss in an effort not to lose what little power he actually held. Then he really felt ill at the idea of a Percy who actively enjoyed it.

“I really need to get her back in there for the odd lunch,” Harry had murmured to himself, then tucked the report into his pocket. He had then returned to the compound and composed a note to Skeeter, instructing her to hold her tongue on that information for the time being, and to be ready at a moment’s notice for another mission, her pay to be the same or even possibly higher. The better behaved she was for them, the better her reward, and the best part was that she could not be 100% positive who she was working for.

And in point of fact, the day before Dumbledore was scheduled to have his meeting, Lucius had gone in shortly before noon to speak with Fudge on a trifling issue and brought her with him, then left a few minutes later with the excuse of a lunch date he could not in good conscience cancel.

The report Harry picked up later that day revealed that Percy was in fact his master’s whore. It seemed that Fudge liked to use Percy as his daily relief from stress, not to mention a distraction from people he couldn’t be bothered to listen to closely enough to understand.

Skeeter detailed that Percy had been called in directly Lucius left, and after locking the door had promptly begun to fellate Fudge to hardness, then dropped his trousers and drawers, bent over the minister’s desk, and allowed the man to vigorously pump his short, fat cock into his ass.

Skeeter seemed to be of the opinion that Percy was very willing and even eager to be of such service, his manner so obsequious that even she was disgusted. Harry had to wonder just how much of a salary Percy made. He left a large stack of gold for her to retrieve, then hastened off back home to send another note, this time telling her to appear at the Ministry the next day at ten in the morning, ready to capture all the details about the events that were sure to coincidentally occur.

So it was that Harry was lounging inconspicuously in the atrium that next day, just another face in the crowd, when Dumbledore made an appearance. The man had not managed to get halfway across the room when Voldemort acted, activating the portkey. Moody’s corpse appeared just in front of the security stand, startling the wits out of a number of people milling around nearby.

Dumbledore hastened forward as the screaming started, but was beaten to the body by the wand registration fellow, who took one close-up look before hastily whirling around and vomiting, dropping to his knees with the strength of his reaction.

Dumbledore stopped just to the side of his long-time friend, simply staring at him, then crouched down long enough to retrieve the envelope pinned to the man’s chest. Fudge arrived, having no doubt been informed of the commotion, and went deathly pale before scurrying over to Dumbledore’s side.

Flashbulbs went off, freshly startling a number of people, as Rita Skeeter and her photographer dashed forward, the very picture of eagerness to get an unexpected story. (When questioned later by suspicious officials, she admitted to being there for a chance to grill Dumbledore about the state of the Light’s efforts against the Forces of Evil, having learned through the grapevine that he would be there that day.)

It was shortly a madhouse, with aurors and other Ministry personnel appearing to contain the crowd and the horde of reporters that had begun showing up and screaming out questions intended for Fudge and Dumbledore to answer. Rita even went so far as to be bold enough to rudely summon the letter from Dumbledore’s hand, hold it up for her photographer to take a snap of, then try to read it personally before it was snatched back. She instantly nudged her companion and hissed for him to get the film to safety, then went right back to yelling out questions and demanding answers.

Fudge looked like he might faint at any moment, and seemed to be relying heavily on Dumbledore to play the front man and make decisions as to the immediate disposition of Moody, so Harry, very well pleased with the turmoil, sauntered off quietly to an outgoing floo and left, idly wondering just how long it would be before Fudge called his assistant in for another round of stress relief.

The last thing Harry did before calling it a day was to leave a very generous bonus in the vault for Skeeter for her actions, and a quick note letting her know to continue holding off on the sex scandal information until further notice.


	8. Nymphadora Tonks

When Tonks finally awoke she was in a rather clinical looking room. In fact, it very closely resembled a muggle operating theatre, complete with an observation room situated high up on one wall. And indeed, there did appear to be a number of people present there, sitting in comfortable seats, and looking on with avid interest.

Tonks very quickly realized that she was strapped down naked and spread-eagled to a table and nearly blinded by an overhead light. Close by were a small wheeled table with a variety of implements spread out on its surface and several pieces of complicated looking machinery. Once the potential horror of her situation sank in, she began to struggle, then concentrate fiercely.

Harry padded forward softly at that point, in his guise as Justus Bane, and said rather tonelessly, “I’m afraid that will not help you, Miss Nymphadora Tonks. You see, I anticipated your reaction and made sure the restraints would adjust automatically in the event that you attempted to morph a limb in order to slip it free.”

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded to know.

Harry declined to respond immediately, instead moving closer and reaching up and off to the side to flip a nearby toggle, causing a small red light to blink on. “Department of Mysteries, Unspeakable Division, case number NT-562b, Nymphadora Tonks, metamorphmagus,” he said clearly. “We will now begin phase two of our experiments into the nature of Miss Tonks’s rare ability. The subject is—”

“Experiments!? Subject!?”

Harry heaved a patient sigh and said, again in that rather toneless voice, “Miss Tonks, I would appreciate if you would cooperate with me by not having these outbursts. It creates more work for the transcriptionist who has to edit out the extraneous material for the reports.”

“You can’t bloody well experiment on me. This is insane! I’m a human being with rights, damn it, so let me go!”

“As I recall, Miss Tonks, you referred to this as an amazing opportunity, so I fail to understand your present attitude. Nevertheless, we will conduct our experiments with or without your willing cooperation. The minister was quite happy to accede to our request for your transfer, after all. He would probably become upset to learn that you were being so recalcitrant.”

“He can’t possibly have agreed to _this_! He’s the minister for Merlin’s sake, not the Dark Lord,” she argued.

Harry aimed a smile at her, just a faint one, then said, “Indeed he is not. Now, I must continue, Miss Tonks, so please remain quiet unless I ask you a direct question.”

“Not bloody likely!” she shot back.

Harry heaved another patient sigh and snapped his fingers twice. At that signal, Voldemort came into view, appearing for all the world to be a simple assistant. He unhooked a round-nosed, cylindrical object from one of the machines and checked the cabling, applied a slight coating of some sort of jelly, then inserted it into her ass; that produced a fresh round of objections. Voldemort reached over and pressed a button, then watched impassively as Tonks convulsed for approximately five seconds, her eyes rolling back into her head. She also lost control of her bladder, the results of which Voldemort promptly vanished.

Harry sighed slightly, shook his head, then said in a bored tone, “Inability on the part of the subject to obey instructions has necessitated the use of electroshock. Stimulus will be applied each time she speaks out of turn, the voltage not being high enough, by policy, to cause permanent damage unless we are forced to overuse this method of discipline.

“The subject has already provided samples for the muggle gene sequencing procedure, so we will now move on to the more invasive tests to determine just how flexible the metamorphmagus ability is. We will begin with breaking the skin of the subject to see if she is able, on request, to use her ability to morph the damage away.”

Harry held out his hand, accepting a set of surgeon’s gloves a moment later from Voldemort, pulled them on, then held out his hand a second time to receive a scalpel. He made a precise, shallow cut across her stomach, then looked at her and said, “You will now attempt to morph the injury away, Miss Tonks.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind!?”

Voldemort pressed the button again.

When she stopped convulsing Harry said, “Miss Tonks, please try to do as I ask and morph the injury away.” Perhaps the shocks had scrambled her brains a bit for her response was to glare at him quite fiercely. Harry nodded at Voldemort, who immediately pressed the button again, this time holding it down for an extra second.

“Let the record show that the subject remains uncooperative. Assuming she lives through this experience, a memo should be sent to Accounting so her pay can be docked for the appropriate amount.”

“What!?” Tonks began struggling again, trying desperately to free herself, then suddenly went still and closed her eyes. A few moments later her eyes blinked open and a defeated look transformed her face.

“Let the record reflect that the subject has attempted to apparate and has failed,” Harry said. “Miss Tonks, you really should stop being so belligerent. I simply don’t get paid enough to have to deal with this sort of thing, and I think you’re beginning to upset my assistant with your unprofessional behavior and coarse language. Now, shall we continue?”

Harry had to give her credit; she was an extremely feisty sort of girl, and not easily persuaded to simply give up. The next thing out of her mouth was, “Help! One of you lot up there! Get your asses down here and help me right now! I will not be the basis of some misbegotten experiment! I have rights!”

Harry chuckled softly and shook his head, causing Tonks to look at him in wordless surprise. “You have rights, Tonks? What makes you so different from anyone else, hm? If one person can be summarily used as an experiment, what makes you think you should be immune to the same treatment?”

He waved his hand in a grandiose manner; at that same moment Voldemort unobtrusively collapsed the illusion masking the true reality of the room. Harry appeared suddenly as Harry Potter, and Voldemort disappeared entirely, though the equipment remained.

“Harry!? What on earth is going on here? What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let me up from here! I don’t know who you think you are all of a sudden, but you’re sadly mistaken if you think for one moment I’m going to—” Tonks cut off abruptly, a look of horror bleeding across her face to replace the anger and determination.

Harry smirked. “Nice to see you aren’t completely brainless, Nymphy. Let’s talk, shall we?” He tapped the scalpel against the palm of his hand, not even bothering to make sure the blade was facing the right way.

“Er, about what?” she asked hesitantly.

“Why, about your decision to enthusiastically endorse the idea of me being an experiment, my dear Nymphy. I was really quite surprised to learn that you also blame me for the death of Sirius. I understand he was your cousin and all, but I’m not quite sure how that would translate into you being his sole heir, or even garnering a large portion of the Black family holdings. I guess you were pretty pissed off when you found out I got everything and you got dick.”

“You’re not even family!”

Harry nodded. “True, I’m not blood family. That’s also irrelevant in the eyes of the law. Suffice to say, given your choices, I think Sirius was quite right in his decision on who to leave his estate to. If he had known what a jealous, vindictive bitch you are, he might have killed you himself. And as it stands, your branch of the family was disinherited, darling, so that’s another strike against you.”

“Which made my claim just as valid as yours,” she snarled.

Harry shrugged carelessly. “Again, beside the point. The only thing that mattered was _his_ will, and that was properly executed. So, let’s move on, shall we? I find it very odd that you, a person who seems to despise me greatly, would agree to bear my children. But, I suppose, given that it meant Dumbledore was willing to hand over most of the Black money to you in exchange, I guess I can see why you would.

“It’s very interesting that you all were hoping to produce offspring that had all of my power and ability, plus your own metamorphmagus ability, and, of course, would be children that they could raise from the get-go, to their standards and ideals. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had decided to pawn them off on nannies and tutors so you wouldn’t have to deal with them, and instead spend your time luxuriating in a sybaritic lifestyle funded by my inheritance.”

“And why shouldn’t I? The money should have been mine anyway, so what’s a few mewling sprogs I can ignore if it means I got what I deserved to have?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed, his hair gradually lengthening to its now usual waterfall of black. “Trust me, darling, you’ll get exactly what you deserve. I’ll make sure of it.” He reached forward and prodded the wound on her stomach with one finger, making her wince in renewed pain. “Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “That gives me a brilliant idea.”

“Harry, you untie me right now or I swear—”

He waited a few moments to see if she would continue, then snorted. “You’ll what? Yell some more? Plead? Beg? Scream? Cry? My dear Nymphy, surely you understand by now that I’m the one in charge here. _You_ are the experiment this time, darling, not me. I don’t have to be a good little boy and let people beat me and rape me and order me around. So, when you start screaming about your bloody rights, I’m going to call you a hypocrite, and rightly so. I’m also going to make sure, darling, that you in some way attempt to pay me back for all the suffering you helped to heap upon me.”

“I didn’t do any of that,” she protested. “I never laid a hand on you.”

Harry tilted his head to one side. “And you never lifted a hand to help, either. Instead, you gathered up all your anger, your sense of wounded justice, and decided—rather like Ron, I must say—that I didn’t deserve much of anything. You decided that as I wasn’t even fully human that it was all right for people to treat me like a thing, or a dog, or a house-elf.

“You agreed to the plan so you could get what you wanted. Not what you deserved, mind, but what you wanted. I’d say given the general reputation of the Black family that you fit in quite nicely. I have to wonder why you didn’t decide to become a Death Eater while you were at it.”

“A Death Eater? Are you insane?”

“Actually, I’m not entirely certain,” he said in a wondering sort of tone. “I suppose it’s possible that my mental faculties might have been a teensy bit affected by my training, but really, I simply haven’t had the time to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.” He paused to aim a bright smile at her, then said, “Perhaps next week. For now, you’ll have to deal with me as I am.”

She switched tactics. “Harry, please, you’re not this kind of person, really. Please let me go.”

“Not what kind of person?” he responded in mild confusion. “You’re very well aware of what I was trained to be, darling. I’m a merciless, cold-blooded killer and assassin.”

“Please,” she persisted, “let me go. I swear, I won’t tell a soul. I’ll leave the country! You’ll never hear from me again, Harry, and neither will the others. They don’t have to know about this!”

Harry blinked at her in exaggerated surprise. “You know, it’s funny. You see, I seem to recall begging to be let go back then. Do you know what happened? Snape would get out his trusty whip and have at it. I learned very quickly to keep my mouth shut unless I was required to speak, and certainly to not protest any treatment I was given. No, darling, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere. I have absolutely no sympathy for you. This is a situation of your own making, and that means you’re going to pay the price.”

“Bastard,” she muttered. “How the hell did you escape?”

Harry beamed at the question. “Finally! Someone actually bothered to ask! I’m in such a good mood now that I’ll try to explain. Apparently, unbeknownst to anyone involved, you were all rather careless and overconfident, and completely overlooked the fact that I do, in fact, have a brain. When the opportunity arose, I used my considerable talent and power to skip right out of a mission without any interference. Imagine that! And then I made such a good friend, and he’s been ever so helpful and thoughtful and kind.”

Tonks finally appeared to get a clue and shot him a rather fearful look.

“That’s right, darling. And it is my great pleasure to let you know that I won’t be alone today in making you scream in agony. I’ll have help! Tom, are you ready?”

“Certainly, Harry,” Voldemort said as he stepped back into view, this time looking like himself. “What did you have in mind for _this_ one?”

“Well, Tom,” Harry said matter-of-factly, “I thought it would be a brilliant idea to start out by making very sure that Nymphy here can’t ever have children.”

She screamed. Very loudly. Harry winced slightly at the volume, then shrugged. “I haven’t even really hurt her yet. Honestly, just like a woman, thinking that screaming loudly enough will make people feel sorry for her and let her have her way. Anyway, really, the idea of this woman ever being capable of bearing my children just makes me want to castrate myself. And since there’s no chance of that ever happening, I guess we’ll just have to do a bit of surgery on her, right?”

“Of course,” Voldemort said agreeably, then bestowed a kindly smile on Tonks.

Tonks did something rather unexpected at that point; she squeezed her eyes shut and began muttering under her breath. Harry idly wondered if she was praying. On that note he sliced the scalpel deeply across her abdomen, then went back over the incision several times until he had room to maneuver properly. He handed the scalpel over to Voldemort, then yanked the wound apart violently, finally provoking a heart-rending scream of agony out of his victim.

“Hm,” he said, “now where did Mother Nature put them?” He stuck a hand in and rummaged around for a bit. “Ooo, there we are, you naughty thing,” he said cheerfully, then hauled out an ovary. “That’s one.” He dropped the bloody organ onto a nearby tray and went back for the other one, finding it a few moments later.

Then he looked at Tonks and frowned. “Tom, she’s done gone and passed out. That’s not fair.”

Voldemort chuckled and produced his wand. “I will ennervate her and use a spell to make sure she cannot lose consciousness, all right?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.” A few seconds later he said, “I suppose I ought to take care of the uterus, too, huh? Can’t be too careful these days.”

Tonks began crying weakly and tried to curl in on herself; Harry ignored it. A minute later, with the able help of the scalpel, he had removed another organ and set it aside. Then he said conversationally, “You know, I just had a thought. I’ve always wanted a dog, Tom. Is that all right with you? A dog? I’ll train him very well, I promise.”

“I do not object, Harry, so long as it’s kept in a kennel outside.”

“Really? Then I’ve got the best idea. I think with lots of beatings and massive brainwashing, I could convince Remus Lupin to think he’s my new pet, don’t you? Wouldn’t that be a really fun experiment? I could get him a nice collar, and a set of bowls for his kibble and water, and a leash, and take him on walks at night.”

Tonks moaned, a sound of abject despair, and began crying even harder.

Harry smirked nastily, well aware of her unrequited love for the man. “I think he’d make a splendid pet. After all, it’s not like he’s a full human, so I can’t see why anyone would object to me making myself his master. It’s not like anyone would care. And being a werewolf, I’m sure he could withstand quite a bit in the way of being disciplined for training purposes or misbehavior. Hm, I wonder if there’s a way to force one into wolf form permanently. It’s not like a pet needs a real mind, right?”

Tonks screamed out her denial of those words, then slumped from the effort and immediately tried to curl up again, fighting weakly against her restraints.

“Yes, I think I will. Much better than just killing him. He can become my mindless little doggy drone for the rest of his sorry life. At least then he’d be sort of useful.” He glanced over at Tom and said, “Would you be a sweetheart and kill Nymphy? I’m afraid my hands are all bloody and my wand might slip, and she’s become really quite boring now.”

“Of course, Harry. It would be my pleasure.” And Voldemort did just that.

They were comfortably ensconced in the sitting room a short time later, with Harry straddling Voldemort’s lap and snuggled up against him, when Harry suddenly began chuckling for no apparent reason.

“What amuses you?” Voldemort murmured.

“Think about it,” Harry said, his voice slightly muffled. “We don’t necessarily have to devise a way to deliver her body back to anyone. Dumbledore can question the Unspeakables all he wants and it’d be about as effective as beating his head against a brick wall. They’re so tight-lipped about everything and anything that even if they _did_ have a clue what happened, they’d deny knowledge as a matter of policy.”

Voldemort laughed appreciatively and tightened his hold on his mate. “I have a question for you, but I’m not sure how you’re going to react, Harry.”

“Just ask,” Harry said softly.

“I’m not even sure how to ask it,” Voldemort admitted, “so I suppose I shall just be blunt and hope you can forgive me for that. I have, at times, wanted to take you from behind, Harry, but I’ve been concerned that. . . .”

Harry shifted and sat back, a solemn look on his face. “You’re worried that I’ll freak out because that’s how Snape always fed me.”

Voldemort tilted his head briefly to the side and shrugged a bit. “Yes. And I don’t wish to do anything to tarnish our. . . .”

Harry cleared his throat and said rather firmly, “I think I’d prefer you refer to it as lovemaking, Tom. Not relations, not sex life, or anything else that even smacks of being clinical or unfeeling. Maybe I don’t really understand what love is, but I do know that I feel something for you beyond mere gratitude or even friendship. I sure as hell don’t consider us as friends with benefits. And maybe I am a fool, or deluding myself, but that’s how I feel.”

Voldemort felt his heartbeat falter for a moment, and opened his mouth to respond, then realized he had no idea what to say.

“It’s all right,” Harry said, still quite solemn. “I understand why you’re worried, and I don’t really know how I’d react. I do know that I believe you won’t purposely hurt me, and that you’ll take care of me, so if you really want to try I will. I trust you to stop if I can’t seem to handle it.

“I know . . . it’s hard sometimes, to separate out the whole thing with feeding, and I don’t really understand just how much my nature has affected me, my brain, my emotions, and all of that, or even how the bond does for both of us. But I really want to believe that you feel something too, so I’ll try if it would make you happy.”

Voldemort finally managed to find his misplaced tongue and said, “I’m not sure I understand what love is, either, Harry, but I do know that what I feel for you is nothing less than complex. I truly cannot imagine my life without you in it and I think I would be devastated if something happened to you. My chest hurts just thinking about it.”

Harry suddenly grinned and said, “So we can call it lovemaking?”

Voldemort snorted softly and nodded. “Yes, my sweet.”

Harry wriggled on his lap and then smiled impishly. “Does that make you my boyfriend?” he asked coyly.

Voldemort groaned and tilted his head back against the chair. “I’m not sure dark lords have those, Harry.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Harry said pleadingly. “Don’t spoil my fun.”

Voldemort tilted his head forward with a slight grimace, then smiled helplessly at the adorable pout his mate was sporting. “Yes, Harry. Just like any other, normal people. That makes us boyfriends.”

“Yes!” Harry crowed, then leaned in to kiss him passionately.

Voldemort quickly decided to take advantage of the situation and slid his hands up Harry’s back to gently stroke his fingers over his mate’s cool, hard scales, then delight in the feeling of Harry melting against him and making those erotic little noises deep in his throat. And he continued to enjoy that warm body wriggling and squirming against him for several minutes, taking his time and plundering the depths of his mate’s eager mouth, then pushed forward and got Harry to wrap his legs around his waist so he could stand.

He carried his mate to the bedroom and laid him gently on the bed, his ass at the edge, and whispered a moment later, “Harry, I’d like to try something new. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” Harry hissed, shooting him a lustful look before closing his eyes and rolling his head off to the side.

Voldemort smiled slightly and moved down so he could kneel on the floor aside the bed, fit between Harry’s legs where they dangled over the edge. He began with the known, engulfing his mate’s cock and lavishing it with attention for several minutes before dipping his head lower to suckle Harry’s balls, rolling them around in his mouth gently.

Then he dipped even lower, placing his hands on the backs of Harry’s thighs and pushing his legs up and out, then delicately tongued his mate’s anus. Harry let out a guttural moan and arched, reaching down between to hook his arms under his knees and draw his legs back. Voldemort took that as a very good sign and darted his tongue forward, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, then slowly thrust in and out, his hands sliding up and down the backs and sides of Harry’s thighs.

Harry’s moans of pleasure were becoming quite loud and increasingly erratic, so Voldemort gently pulled away and sat back on his haunches, then reached up to untangle his mate’s limbs, and shortly had Harry on his feet and bent over the bed, ready to receive him. Voldemort placed the head of his cock against his mate’s anus and began to press forward, sliding his hands to Harry’s hips, then bent over once he was fully seated and started to thrust, using his tongue to lick those diamond-like scales.

His mate practically screamed at that point in pleasure and pushed back a hand, under his own body, and began to frantically pull at his cock and stroke it, incoherent words slipping from his lips in Parseltongue, which nearly drove Voldemort over the edge right then. A few moments later Harry began to orgasm, his hips jerking uncontrollably, and that with the sounds his mate continued to make set Voldemort off as well.

He noticed, the next morning, that Harry couldn’t quite seem to wipe the rather foolish grin off his face.

* * *

“Report.”

“My lord, I have compiled a list of all visits and all decrees for you as requested. I have also obtained copies of any decrees that pertain to Harry Potter in any way,” Lucius said as he placed a folder on the desk. “I noticed one in particular that involves both, and placed that first right after the two lists.”

Voldemort arched a brow and pulled the folder to him, flipping it around and opening it. He temporarily bypassed the lists and went straight to the decree to see what it contained. And then he laughed. Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, overcome with mirth at what he had just read.

Harry slinked in a moment later, not paying any attention to Lucius, and perched on the edge of the desk. “What amuses you?”

Voldemort passed over the decree, still chuckling.

Approximately one minute later Harry looked up, blank of expression. Then he blinked and said, “Interesting. Very amusing as a sort of twisted, ironic mimicry, I quite agree. Well, that’s another black mark on a certain someone’s permanent record, and someone else just made the list.” He set the paper down, slid off the desk, and slinked back into his own office.

Lucius watched Harry leave, then turned a faintly confused expression toward his master.

“Inside joke,” Voldemort blithely explained.

“Er, yes, my lord.”

“Excellent work, Lucius. You may go.” Voldemort tucked the paper back in the folder and closed it, then locked it in one of his drawers. As soon as Lucius had closed the outer door behind him, Harry reappeared with a scowl on his face and slumped against the wall.

“Fucking bastard.”

“Yes, but it’s still amusing.”

Harry turned his scowl directly on Voldemort, then stuck out his tongue childishly. “Whatever,” he said crossly. “Does this mean I get Percy as well? Guilt by association? Accessory after the fact?”

Voldemort raised his brows briefly.

“Well, perhaps if Percy wasn’t so damn gung ho on being Fudge’s whore, Fudge might have been paying proper attention when that decree was shoved under his nose by Dumblefuck, and he might not have signed it.” Harry rolled his eyes and blew a lock of hair away from his face with an irritated puff.

“I suggest,” he said slowly, “that you ditch whatever you were working on and go get some exercise. Work off your present aggression before you try to make any kind of a decision like that. And, if you decide to exhaust yourself, I’ll knock off work early and we’ll go back to the house so you can feed.”

He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Harry gave him a jerky sort of nod and disappeared back into his own office. He was almost sorry he had laughed and caught his mate’s attention; it was a shame to have ruined the high Harry had still been on from the night before.

And yet, he truly found it hilarious that they had pulled the exact same maneuver to steal Tonks out from Dumbledore’s nose as that man had used to bring Harry under his control.

Voldemort looked up when Harry wandered back in and said, “I’m going to use the field back behind this place to de-stress, in case you wanted to watch. It’ll be a few minutes, though, while I round up enough golems to make it worthwhile.” Then he sauntered out.

Voldemort thought about that for several minutes, then rose and exited his office, strolling outside and around the building. It being a field it was fairly large and open, though there were clusters of trees here and there, plus holes in the ground and rocks hidden in the grass for the unwary to trip in and over. And it was not unheard of for the occasional cow to wander through from one of the outlying farmsteads and spend some time grazing.

He found a cozy enough spot in the shade and settled in, noticing as the minutes ticked by that a number of Death Eaters were trickling into the area and finding spots on the outskirts to stand. Apparently word had gotten around quickly and people were curious.

Harry arrived a short time later trailed by at least one hundred golems, which he directed to spread out. They, being unable to cast magic, had been armed with a variety of muggle weapons. His mate slinked over to him and said quietly, “We might want to consider giving the constructs crew a pay rise. They must be working overtime lately what with the number of golems I’ve been forcing them to have to put back together.” As Voldemort chuckled Harry produced a scythe, moved to the center of the field, crouched, then yelled, “Begin!”

What followed was an amazing display of talent and ability. Harry not only used a wand in his left hand, his scythe in the other, but occasionally stuck the wand in his teeth in order to snatch a throwing knife from his clothing and hurl that to nail a golem in the eye or throat. He used the trees as cover, or to climb up for overhead shots, and even slunk along through the grass on his stomach in order to sneak up on targets.

Sticking charms were applied to rocks, causing golems unfortunate enough to step on one to do a face-plant into the ground, and patches of longer grass were enchanted to attempt to rend the flesh from anything that touched it with sharpened edges, or wrap around the ankles of the unwary. In short, Harry went all out, and it only took about fifteen minutes for him to claim victory.

Voldemort was smiling as Harry shook back his hair and approached him, absently making the scythe disappear and tucking his wand away. “Excellent display, cosire,” he said.

Harry flashed him a grin. “That was nice, though I wonder if there’s a way to make the golems seem a bit more intelligent. In order to get any real challenge I have to use so many of them.” Then he turned and whistled sharply.

A moment later one of the men rushed up and bowed. “My lord, how may I be of service?”

“Corbell, see to cleaning this up. Have two crews, one to gather up the golems and return them to the constructs people, and another to hunt down all the weapons they dropped to take to the armory.”

“At once, my lord.” Corbell bowed again and hastened off, signaling with one hand and yelling out instructions.

Harry turned back to Voldemort and gave him a weary smile. “I’m really, really hungry now, cosire.”

Voldemort nodded and replied, “Then let us go dine. I’m sure the world will keep on spinning if we’re not at the helm for the rest of the day.”

As they were walking away Voldemort happened to notice Lucius Malfoy along the periphery. The man was just standing there, staring out over the field which was now swarming with people picking up bits and pieces of things, with a rather blank expression on his face. Voldemort nudged Harry and pointed discreetly, then said in nearly a whisper, “I think you’ve gained a new fan, not to mention a humbled one.”

Harry looked at him and arched a brow, so Voldemort continued, “Lucius has always prided himself on his skill.”

“Really now,” Harry said. “We’ll just see once I have the chance to test him. Speaking of which, I commandeered the indoor training facility and set up a sort of obstacle course. It won’t be something they’ve seen before, I think, so it ought to be interesting, not to mention illuminating when I start sending people through to gauge their skill levels.”

“Is the observation room still useable?”

Harry nodded. “Of course, though there’s two of them now. I added one overhead, actually, so people can look straight down and see the whole course through a one-way glass-like floor. I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone who suffers from a fear of heights, though, or vertigo.”

Voldemort chuckled.


	9. Liberating Lupin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a complete lack of creativity (lemon leeches just did not make the grade), I have stolen an idea from myself, courtesy of OWA, for something in this chapter.

“Melkanson!” Harry bellowed.

The man rushed over and bowed. “My lord?”

“You seem to have the most brains of this lot, so you’ve just been promoted to lieutenant. Don’t disappoint me. Now, three things. First, detail someone to direct our incoming guinea pigs to the briefing room I set up. Have them meet me in there immediately so I can explain their new job. Second, round up the rest of the training staff and send them to the overhead observation room. I expect them to be ready to jot down notes as necessary. If that means them hauling their breakfasts with them, so be it. Oh, and make sure the gopher has the list of who to expect today. Third, make sure a medical team is waiting at the other end of the course.”

“Er, gopher, my lord?”

Harry brushed his hair back and gazed at Melkanson steadily. “The person you detail to escort our testees. It’s a muggle term, generally used to refer to a person who runs errands. Once you’ve done those things, join the rest of the staff in the overhead. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll begin at once.” Melkanson bowed and scurried off.

Harry checked the time, then made his way to the briefing room. A couple of minutes later a fresh-faced young lady entered and bowed.

“Name?”

“Rava Jansky, my lord.”

Harry nodded. “The people on the list you ought to have will be arriving at half hour intervals. Bring them in here. After explaining what they’re about to do, you pop upstairs and wait for the go ahead, then come back down here and send them on in. Now, as for what you need to explain, that’s fairly simple. Through that door”—he pointed—“is an obstacle course of sorts, designed to test casting ability, creative thinking, knowledge, aim, accuracy, and so on.

“Each person’s objectives are also simple. They each need to successfully navigate the course and exit out the other end, and disable all ten opponents within. People should be aware that there are obstacles within which require actual thought, traps to be avoided or otherwise negated, and the odd magical creature to contend with.

“People will _not_ discuss the course once they’ve been through it or they’ll have me to contend with. Anyone caught having loose lips may not need to worry about improving their skills, as it’s quite possible they might not live to see the next day.

“There’s eight people this morning with another eight starting at one. I’m going to make the bold assumption that Melkanson picked you because I can count on you to be here and handle this.” He stared at her intently.

“Yes, my lord. I do not presently hold an outside job, so I can perform this duty for as long as you need me.”

“Splendid.” Harry handed over a sheet of paper. “A summary, though I expect after a bit you’ll be able to recite this in your sleep. The first one should be arriving any minute now. And that reminds me. The first one of each session, morning and afternoon, can be sent in at exactly time without needing to check upstairs first. Anyone else has to wait until you have the go ahead so I have time to reset things. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Harry nodded. “You might consider bringing a book this afternoon so you have something to do between testees,” he said, then turned and exited so he could head upstairs. He paused after he entered, his eyes going to a fellow flat on his back on the floor, then approached Melkanson. “Explain.”

Melkanson started slightly and said, “My lord, Landsman seems to have a slight problem with heights. He made it halfway across the floor from what I’m told, looked down, started gibbering, and collapsed.”

Harry covered his face with one hand and sighed.

* * *

Harry dropped by Diagon Alley late Friday afternoon, needing desperately to get away from the compound after a week of watching people scurry about like rats in a maze, and half the time not even find the damn cheese. He slipped into Madam Malkin’s and glanced about, spotting the proprietor speaking with a customer, so he drifted over to one of the racks and began examining the offerings.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Harry, having heard the sound of an approach, was not startled, and so turned smoothly to see the cheerful face of Madam Malkin. He lifted his head enough to give her a glimpse of his face, at which point she said, “Oh!”

“I would like to pick up my order, if possible,” he said softly.

“Of course, right this way,” she said, then bustled off toward the counter.

He followed, keeping his head down slightly, and waited as she rummaged around and finally produced a stack of packages. As before she shrunk them to make things easier for him, pushed them over, then leaned in over the counter and said confidingly, “Not to worry. No one has asked a thing.”

Harry slipped his goods off the counter and into his pocket, then nodded as though he was already aware of that fact. “I have kept an eye out, but had not noticed anyone suspicious entering here to bother you, so I am very reassured to hear that. I couldn’t be here all the time, so. . . .”

She nodded a few times and reached out to pat his hand briefly. “I think we’ll be fine here, dear. It seems clear that either you weren’t seen, or people passed off any rumors as just that.”

Harry nodded again. “It appears to be so, madam. I will continue to keep watch whenever I can, though. And I expect at this point that if anyone does get around to asking, you can safely say you haven’t seen me at all. Thank you so much for your help.”

“You come see me whenever you need more things, dear,” she said, smiled cheerfully, and bustled off.

Harry exited the shop, rather pleased with that information. Apparently Moody had never paused long enough to let anyone in the Order know he had spotted Harry in Diagon Alley, or even that he suspected it. Moody had obviously learned of his presence and decided on the spot that he could handle things alone, and so did not bother to send off a note or a letter. Either that, or Harry had caught him at precisely the right moment and had distracted him from doing exactly such a thing.

And on that note, Harry decided to do a bit more window shopping as a method of relaxation, pausing at one window for long enough to alter his appearance without anyone noticing due to his cloak, then moving on. After all, it was possible, however unlikely, that someone could crash into him and cause his hood to fall back and expose his features, and then all hell could break loose as shop patrons wandering the alley recognized and swarmed him.

He paused, wondering for a moment just how little, or how much, he had even been in the papers since he had been hauled off to be trained. Did people even care any longer? Was he finally not a big deal in the wizarding world? He sensed a mental snort of amusement and knew Voldemort was having entirely too much fun at his expense. He resolved to ask about those very issues, to see if it was worth bothering about.

He continued on along the alley, looking here and there, pausing to examine the wares of the odd street vendor, and eventually drifted to a stop outside a rather familiar shop. He was mildly surprised to see his own, smiling face on a poster in the window. Apparently he was quite enthusiastic about . . . cutlery?

Harry squinted. The poster depicted him holding a fork in one hand, with text running along the side extolling the delightful virtues of tableware that would, within several minutes of being taken up, begin to droop and otherwise refuse to hold any weight. Perfect for parties and other gatherings, it said. Amuse your in-laws.

He thought about that for a few minutes, casting through his memories, but simply could not remember ever having posed for such a thing. Then he examined the poster again and frowned; that trademark crooked grin of his was all wrong. It was at about that point that suspicion set in.

Curious, and not a little angry, Harry decided to investigate a bit further, so he entered the shop and began browsing the shelves. Not only was his face a frequent sight, but he was apparently endorsing over half the stock in the shop. He somehow thought that he wasn’t receiving any compensation for the use of his name and face, nor a percentage of the profits that had no doubt been gained as a direct result of the twins’ advertising campaign.

A discreet glance around the shop’s interior placed both twins, so Harry tracked down a display of the cutlery and slipped a package off the shelf (service for eight), then strolled over to the counter and set it down. Within moments a twin appeared, as though having sniffed out a sale in the making. Harry rather thought it reminded him of sharks converging on a bleeding victim.

“Good afternoon,” the twin said cheerfully.

“Interesting idea,” he said, nodding at the package.

“They’re quite popular. But then, anything Harry likes is.”

“Oh? I hadn’t heard that he liked pranks so much.” He tilted his head so that he appeared to be checking out the sweets display.

“Absolutely,” the twin said, nodding rather enthusiastically. “He helps test all our products. Practically one of the family.”

“I suppose one shouldn’t always believe the papers, then,” he said, reaching out to get a packet of Drooble’s and place it on the counter as well. “It sounds like he’s a nice young man, especially to help you out so much.”

“That’s our Harry.”

Harry nodded at the counter and said, “How much will that be, please?”

* * *

Voldemort reached the door and whipped it open, stepping through a second later. “Well, Mr Official Timekeeper?” The sarcasm was totally unmistakable.

Harry grinned broadly and said, “Seven minutes, thirty-six seconds.”

“Finally!” Voldemort kicked the door shut and rolled his eyes. 

“Yup! You win. You are also the record holder, not that I will actually share that information with anyone, and as far as my staff will continue to think, Lucius holds the top spot. After all, dark lords do not run the obstacle course and potentially subject themselves to ridicule and whatnot.”

Voldemort tucked his wand away and stepped forward, pinning Harry with an intent look. “Are you at least going to tell me what the penalty would have been if I’d lost?”

Harry stubbornly shook his head, a secretive smile on his lips. “I had absolute confidence in you, Tom. Perhaps next time, if you dare make another bet. But, seeing as how you won this time. . . .”

Voldemort snorted and stepped even closer to his mate, wanting to kiss that damn smile right off his face and make him beg instead. “Speaking of which. . . . Given that I am the winner, it is my right to order you to get that delectable ass of yours upstairs to the overhead post-haste. And somehow, I don’t think you’re going to disobey me.”

Harry lurched forward and pressed himself to Voldemort, writhing against him in a way that instantly made his cock stir to life, then stepped away and practically bounced toward the door leading to the hall. Once they were in the overhead observation room, Voldemort took a moment to re-lock the door, then advanced into the center of the room and cast a few cleaning and cushioning charms. By the time he had that done, Harry was already completely naked and advancing on him with a gait that screamed sexual predator.

And he was very shortly naked himself and pulling Harry down onto the floor, starting their little tryst with some serious kissing. It probably had everything to do with the fact that Harry didn’t actually need to eat, but the taste of his mate’s mouth was always delicious, like some exotic mixture of rare spices or flavors, subtle yet sinfully enticing.

Harry rolled them over and attacked Voldemort’s neck, forging a trail down his lover’s body to finally arrive between his legs and lower his head to tease Voldemort’s cock with his mouth. It was already painfully erect, but Voldemort had excellent self control, so Harry frequently indulged his desire to suckle him before intercourse.

However, it wasn’t long before Voldemort growled and reached down to tangle his fingers into Harry’s hair, then pull, forcing his mate to crawl up his body and prepare to ride. He groaned appreciatively as Harry’s tight ass enveloped his cock, hands moving to grip his mate’s hips even as Harry planted his own firmly on Voldemort’s chest. And then he started to move.

Voldemort was having the time of his life a few minutes later, the naughty little thrill of their location sending additional tingles down his spine and through his body, when Harry suddenly faltered, leaned over to one side, then stopped moving entirely. “Oh . . . my . . . god.”

“Harry, what is it?” Voldemort wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or not. Harry’s face was a study of amused shock.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve _got_ to see this,” Harry said, then disengaged and crawled off. “Look there.”

Voldemort heaved an irritated sigh and rolled over onto his knees, looked through the floor, then snarled and shot to his feet, quickly striding over to a panel Harry had fashioned to control parts of the course. He stabbed one of the buttons viciously with his index finger and returned to his mate’s side to kneel and watch the results.

A couple of golems shuffled out quietly toward two people directly beneath them, one of them accidentally knocking over a spare bit of wood and creating quite a clatter. Draco, who had just begun to lose himself in orgasm, wrenched himself away from his companion and whirled at the noise, his hips continuing to jerk and his load spurting out in an uneven arc. Then he shrieked like a little girl and dove for his clothing, not bothering to assist his companion in any way, and raced off like the devil was on his tail.

The girl, obviously composed of much sterner stuff, whipped out her wand and quickly cut down the golems, then hauled herself up and found her clothes. They could see she was exceptionally miffed about the whole thing as she dressed and then strode off forcefully in the same direction Draco had taken.

Harry looked at Voldemort, then burst out laughing.

* * *

Voldemort called an assembly. Harry was pacing back and forth along the front of the dais looking like a dangerously hungry feline barely holding itself back from attacking. And then he came to a stop at the center and faced the crowd, letting his dead gaze sweep out over those assembled. Not a few of them took a half step back in response.

“It has come to our attention that some of you have been using the indoor training facility as an illicit assignation spot,” Harry said in a deadly sort of voice.

Nearly a dozen faces in the crowd suddenly went red, and while the majority of them were fairly young, at least one was old enough that he really ought to have known better. Voldemort kept his face locked into an expression of barely restrained anger and waited, very much enjoying watching his mate’s handling of the situation.

“This will _stop_ ,” Harry continued, then whipped out his wand in a blur of motion and swiftly cast an incarceration spell on the owner of every discomfited face. “I was quite sure that we were all responsible adults here and knew better than to indulge in our kinky little passions while sprawled out in a facility such as that. Are we to next expect to hear of Death Eaters rutting in the constructs cage so that they might have an audience of sorts?”

Voldemort’s mouth twitched; that was a rather interesting idea, actually.

“Be warned, my friends,” Harry said in a deceptively sweet tone. “And be very careful. I rather suspect that most of you are not so keen to christen half the compound as to feel pleased at the idea of being made to perform sexual acts before an assembly of your peers like a trained monkey in some demented circus sideshow.”

Harry looked away for a moment, then back and snarled, “Now get out of my sight!” Once the room had cleared his mate flicked his wand a few times and hauled the bound Death Eaters into a tidy row before the dais. “Whatever shall we do with you lot?” he purred.

They looked, Voldemort thought, really quite scared. He was going to have some fun of his own later on when he brought this up with Lucius. Perhaps Draco needed a chastity belt?

“I know,” Harry said. “I have a _brilliant_ idea! You see, fighting against golems is all very well, but they are a bit slow, not to mention only as smart as their programming can handle. You, my dear friends, have just volunteered to replace them on the training course. You will be armed only with muggle weapons, and suffer the delights on a daily basis—until all reviews are handled, that is—of being disarmed, disabled, and knocked senseless by your peers.

“Naturally, if I catch any of you deliberately lagging behind in your duties, or causing irrevocable damage to anyone running the gauntlet, I’ll simply have to find a way to permanently rearrange your decision making processes. I also strongly suggest that you take this opportunity to learn how to use the weapons I will be assigning to you.”

Harry moved forward a step and tilted his head to the side, eyeing them intently. “Now, you will present yourselves to the training facility bright and early each and every morning at seven-thirty, unless otherwise instructed. And once you all have a very good idea of what you’ll be doing and where you need to be within the course, I expect to not have to babysit any of you. You will arrive on time, take your places, and perform your duty to the best of your abilities. Are we clear on this so far?”

A muffled chorus of, “Yes, my lord,” was heard.

“Excellent! Now, for your punishment.”

Voldemort arched a brow when they all had the audacity to look surprised. Harry laughed throatily and proceeded to cast crucio on each of them for a minute apiece, then remove their bindings.

“Now, follow me like good little children over to the facility where I’ll be just thrilled to begin instructing you.”

And then Voldemort realized it was equally amusing that Draco’s female companion had kept her cool during Harry’s speech and was not one of those presently being led off like a string of ducklings.

* * *

Harry waited patiently until the last of the Order members filed out of № 12 Grimmauld Place, and then waited an additional half hour just to be on the safe side. When he felt ready he lurched up to the front door, opened it and stepped inside, shutting it behind him loudly, then staggered around the hall, bumping into the walls and crashing into things and generally making a great deal of noise in the process before collapsing to the floor.

Mrs Black’s portrait began a screaming tirade almost immediately and Remus Lupin rushed in to see what the commotion was about, then gasped and threw himself on his knees at Harry’s side. “Ron! Dear god, where have you been? We’ve been—you’re hurt! Let me go call the others!”

“No,” Harry moaned, reaching up to get a death grip on the front of Lupin’s robes and prevent him from easily rising. His wounds, naturally, were completely fake, though they had harvested some blood from Ron’s corpse and fiddled with it a bit for use in this little charade, and to add some verisimilitude to the deception. He was even wearing Ron’s clothes. “Help me . . . upstairs,” he gasped out.

“Yes,” Lupin said and pulled Harry into his arms, easily lifting him off the floor, then started down the hall toward the staircase carrying him bridal style.

As they passed by Mrs Black’s portrait Harry winked at her, momentarily rendering her speechless. Apparently, though, she was pretty damn savvy for a painting, and launched right back into a continuation of her rant about blood traitors, disgraces to the family name, and the glory of the Dark Lord. Remus never even noticed, he was so distraught and intent on helping who he thought was Ron.

Harry was shortly being laid onto a bed in one of the upstairs rooms, and Lupin dashed over to a dresser and yanked it open, hauled out a shirt, then dosed it with a shot of water from his wand. He then skidded back over to the bed and began dabbing at Harry’s supposed wounds. “Ron, can you tell me anything?”

“It was . . . the Dark Lord,” he gasped, then moaned as though in pain from something Lupin had done. “It hurts . . . so bad.”

“I’ll get you a potion. Don’t move,” Lupin said and leapt back up, dashing off toward a cupboard.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid his wand out, then nailed Lupin in the back with that charming little Dark Arts spell Voldemort had so thoughtfully taught him. The werewolf dropped like a felled tree, hitting the floor with an exceptionally loud thud. “Christ, what a rube,” he muttered, then slipped off the bed. “And like I’d really want to move about if I were truly that injured? Not only bloody gullible, but also simple minded.”

A few steps had him standing next to the man. Harry crouched down and produced a portkey, then slapped Lupin with it and watched him disappear, knowing that Voldemort would be waiting to begin preparing the man for interrogation. Then he wandered out of the room and back downstairs to drift to a stop in front of a now silent Mrs Black.

“Greetings, madam,” he said cheerfully.

She gave him a very suspicious look, but was apparently curious enough about that wink to see what he wanted, and thus did not begin screeching again.

Harry leaned in close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I am not what I appear to be, madam. I can say, however, that you and I share a certain sense of admiration for a particular individual whose name I shall not speak.”

Mrs Black blinked in surprise, then frowned. “Why, young man, should I believe that?”

“Madam, really. You and I both know that people such as Dumbledore will be our downfall if given half a chance. In addition to ridding this fine house of yet another despicable person, that being the werewolf, I have come to ask for a favor. The Dark Lord would be very pleased if you would consent to keep your ears open, madam, and pass on any interesting tidbits when I am able to sneak back in for a chat. Or, if you happen to know of a second portrait of yourself, I would be happy to try to retrieve it to make things easier for us all.”

Her brow softened to a thoughtful crinkle as she considered that. Then she said, “Have you access to the Black family vaults, young man?”

“Indeed I do, madam.”

“Check those. Many portraits were stored there, and I know this was not my only copy.”

“Excellent, madam. I will most certainly check. I have a question for you, if I may?”

“Yes?”

“Do you happen to have any idea just how, oh—how shall I put this?—Slytherin Phineas Nigellus is?”

Mrs Black narrowed her eyes at him, then shook her head slowly. “I could not say for sure.”

Harry frowned slightly and nodded. “It was worth a—” Something, some movement, caught his attention and he whipped his head around, just in time to see something disappear out the side of a small portrait he had not noticed before. “Blast,” he muttered, then looked back at Mrs Black.

“Madam, I do believe now is a very good time for me to absent myself. Should you find yourself in any danger, I suggest you attempt to switch to a different portrait. I will be checking the vaults, so hopefully we’ll speak again very soon.” He gave her a quick bow, then nipped off out the front door and down the street, ducking into the first available alley and then disapparating.

Voldemort was waiting for him when he entered the dungeon, and already had Lupin stripped down and racked. He looked up from his work to smile and nod his head, then continued casting a variety of spells to determine if the werewolf was hiding anything dangerous.

Harry left him to it and conjured up a squashy chair, then flopped into it and cast his thoughts back to that eavesdropping portrait. He hadn’t seen well enough to place who it had been. And for all he knew, there was a pastoral scene on the third floor containing a milkmaid, and she had been taking her late night constitutional.

However, it was far more likely to have been some sort of spy for Dumbledore, and very probably Nigellus himself, especially given the question he had only just then voiced to Mrs Black. Would the old fart report to Dumbledore? If he did he would only be able to say that Ron Weasley was acting rather suspiciously, and possibly that he was responsible for the disappearance of Remus Lupin.

It was certainly true that Nigellus could have been lazing about the house in an effort to escape the snoring masses in the headmaster’s office, had heard the commotion and gone to investigate, then witnessed Ron’s arrival and Lupin’s brief care of him. If there had been a portrait in the bedroom, he might even have seen exactly what Harry had done before slipping back downstairs in pursuit.

Harry was shaken from his thoughts by Voldemort cracking his neck, and looked up to give his lover his full attention.

“He’s clean. I suppose he felt quite safe in that house as I’ve not found a damn thing on him aside from his wand.” Voldemort sat back in his chair and snorted.

“And were you able to notice what I did? That potential little spy while I was talking to Mrs Black?” Harry asked, thinking that perhaps Voldemort had been too busy dealing with Lupin to be able to notice all the details.

Voldemort shook his head and confirmed his suspicions, so Harry explained what had happened and his thoughts on the matter, which made Voldemort look both amused and contemplative. And then he agreed. “Yes, it is possible that Nigellus did not cotton on to the fact that it wasn’t actually Ron, and might well inform Dumbledore of this evening’s events. On the other hand, he might hold his tongue and instead attempt to converse with Mrs Black, and even possibly agree to spy for us. In any case, I expect you’ll be heading to Gringotts tomorrow to check the vaults?”

Harry nodded. “Absolutely. If I can find another portrait of her I’ll let you decide where to place it.” Then he took several deep breaths and nodded at Lupin. “Shall we begin?”

Several hours later Harry was feeling a bit . . . vicious. However, it was neither the time nor place to act on his impulses. He needed to calmly think about things and decide on an appropriate plan of action. And at that, he felt strangely unhappy about the idea of actually killing Lupin, he being the only real reminder of his parents. That was not to say he would definitely restrain himself from such an action, but it certainly suggested that he might be able to find a far more satisfying way to handle things.

So it was that Lupin was left to his rack while he and Voldemort returned to the house, and Harry was shortly out of those horribly uncomfortable and constricting clothes. They might be stylish, and they might set off his looks and make a statement, but the less he had to wear them the better. Besides, it was such a bother to have to pause to remove them when he felt like seducing Voldemort into another round of lovemaking, or even to be fed.

“Harry,” Voldemort said, causing his head to snap up, “when you check the vaults, keep an eye out as well for Nigellus. There may be one of his there also. It might be wise for you to alter your appearance out of sight of the goblin escort before you start your search, just in case.”

Harry blinked. “Right. Thank you, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It might be useful for you to again appear as Weasley. That way, if Nigellus spots you there and decides to squeal to the old man, it will just add to the confusion. Also, if there were any house-elves attached to that dwelling, they ought to be under your command now, so that is another thing to consider.”

“Kreacher,” Harry snarled. “Well, if he’s still about I already know he’s completely mad and only listens to Mrs Black, so I’m sure he’d be happy to do a bit of eavesdropping on our behalf. I guess we’ll see, huh?”

* * *

The next day Voldemort lounged about reading for pleasure—a fairly new publication he had stumbled over on recent advances in torture techniques and ways to keep your victims alive for insane amounts of time despite the damage—while Harry was off rummaging through the Black vaults. His mate had already reviewed a few people who held outside jobs, so Voldemort was sure the trip would be a welcome break from idiocy.

Harry breezed in at about noon and said, “I found one of each, actually, though I only brought back Mrs Black for now. I’ve left her in the hall, well padded and wrapped so she can’t hear anything for the time being. I pretended not to notice Nigellus lurking, and he never said a word.”

“All right. I’ll find a safe spot for her shortly, somewhere in the house. We can question her together.”

Harry nodded, and strangely, had still made no move to strip. “I was thinking,” he said a bit diffidently, “of visiting another of my properties. And, I really wanted you to go with me, because I’m a little worried about how it might affect me.”

Voldemort narrowed his gaze, then understood. “Godric’s Hollow.”

“Yes. I think . . . I might need your support.”

“Of course, Harry. You have only to ask. I would be happy to accompany you. Did you wish to go now?”

Harry nodded slowly, then said, “I’m afraid I might lose my nerve completely if I don’t push myself on this, so yes, now, if you’re okay with that. I might never be able to go otherwise.”

Voldemort set aside his reading material and pushed to his feet, stepping up to his mate to kiss him softly and pull him into a brief hug. “Do you already know the coordinates?” he asked gently.

Harry nodded against him so Voldemort said, “Then let us go.”

They arrived in front of what appeared to be the ruins of a decent-sized cottage. Voldemort found that rather surprising given that it wasn’t as though the building had collapsed on that night so long ago. Investigation proved it to be an illusion meant for muggles and wizards alike, which intrigued him. And there were several sorts of wards surrounding the structure, but they were more on the order of repelling the curious rather than being actively defensive or hostile. The sole exception was an anti-apparation ward.

After a mental shrug Voldemort urged Harry forward gently, and they stepped through the illusion to see a perfectly stable cottage, then entered. He trailed along beside his mate as Harry drifted through the halls and rooms and occasionally made a soft noise of surprise, noting at one point that Harry had slipped a framed photograph off a mantelpiece and tucked it in his pocket.

He was feeling fairly confident about Harry’s ability to finish his investigation without undue distress by the time they headed upstairs, but quickly noticed that his mate’s gait had gone rather stiff, which was most unlike him. Harry started moving toward one door in particular, a hand stretched out, as though it were a magnet of some sort. And then he reached it and turned the knob, then pushed the door open, collapsing a moment later to the floor in a fetal position and whispering something Voldemort could not make out.

He rushed forward, his only thought at that moment to help Harry, then stopped dead as he caught a glimpse into the room itself. It was a cold, sterile, little box of a room—Harry’s cell. Dumbledore had used part of his mate’s own childhood home as a prison and torture chamber.

He snapped out of his shock and growing anger at the sound of Harry crying, and quickly dropped to his knees to pull his mate into his arms, then push to his feet and head back downstairs, out the back door and beyond the wards. Within moments he had apparated them home.

* * *

Associated Snapshot: [First Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205216)


	10. Remus Lupin

It took a week before Harry felt well enough to start tackling the issue of Remus Lupin, werewolf. In that time Voldemort had authorized a pay rise for the constructs crew given the alarming number of golems his mate had gone through. They were probably working all hours of the day and night trying to keep up with the demand of Lord Thanatos alone. It was surely a coincidence when many of the golems had had their faces mysteriously altered to closely resemble any number of people known to be supporters of the Light, or active forces on their behalf.

Harry had also dragged rather a lot of books into the library from the muggle world and had spent hours engrossed in them. Voldemort got the distinct impression that Remus Lupin would be paying part of Dumbledore’s debt for him, however unfair that might be. And he wasn’t about to call Harry on that suspicion, not after seeing that room, and not after having gone back to determine whether or not Lupin had, in fact, known exactly where Harry had been kept; he had.

Mrs Black was now enjoying a spot in a normally unused, small sitting room, and Voldemort had spoken with her at length. Unfortunately, she didn’t know anything of much value, but did promise to keep her ears open, and to report if Nigellus approached her. She also confirmed that Kreacher was still in the house, so Voldemort had made a mental note to discuss that with Harry, as he hadn’t been present for the discussion.

And Mrs Black was practically beside herself with the knowledge that the actual owner of the house was once again a supporter of the Dark Lord, though Voldemort did not bother to clue her in as to who, exactly, that was. She, naturally, wasn’t silly enough to ask. Granted, it was not like she could die a second time, but she obviously enjoyed some sort of existence and preferred to keep on living it.

Harry had spent the next few evenings running some experiments. Voldemort had watched as Harry injected some sort of muggle drug into Lupin, woke him up, then carefully observed the effects and jotted down notes. When he was done with a particular session of observation he would slap Lupin back into the coma and obliviate the man’s memory of being awake.

It had been nearly a fortnight before Voldemort was able to conjure himself a nice squashy chair to relax in with some wine and get ready to enjoy the show. Well, and be ready to provide the special effects.

Part of the dungeon had been transformed into something rather resembling a waiting room. The ceiling was white, the walls were white, as was the floor. Even the chairs were, being of a distinctly muggle design, with anodized aluminium tube-construction frames and white cushions for the seats and backs. A white table sat in the center, sporting a white vase containing a bouquet of white flowers—the stems were green, though.

Voldemort was sitting behind one of the false walls enjoying a one-way view as Harry stepped up to Lupin, who had been planted in one of the chairs, and slid the needle of a syringe into his arm and pressed the plunger, then vanished it and took a seat in the other chair. And once he had appropriately altered his appearance, Harry woke Lupin from his coma.

When Remus Lupin raised his head he was staring into the face of James Potter.

Lupin gaped, shook his head, then looked wildly around the room before returning his bewildered gaze to his old friend. “James?”

Harry nodded, a blank look on his face. “Yes, Remus.”

“James, I don’t understand. You’re dead.”

Harry reached up to fiddle with his hair, just like his father always had, and said, “Yes, I am. Judging by the fact that you’re sitting here talking to me. . . .”

Lupin’s face lost all colour as he suddenly remembered his last waking moments. “What—?”

Harry looked at him steadily, then said, “Yes, Ron Weasley. That was a clever act he put on. We were all quite surprised he had it in him. He’s always been so prone to acting rashly.”

“He—?”

Harry nodded. “Sorry, old friend, but yes. Ron Weasley knocked you out and delivered you to Voldemort.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m. . . .” He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it.

“Dead?” Harry said indifferently. “It certainly looks that way. So now you’re here.”

“Here?”

“Of course. This is limbo, Remus. You get to wait here while your fate is decided. We all have to go through it. They were nice enough to let me come visit.”

“They?” Lupin glanced upward, then back at Harry as if for confirmation.

Harry obliged by nodding. “After all, it does get a bit boring at times talking to the same old people, and watching the same old people. Speaking of which, you and I need to have a little talk, Remus. I can’t begin to express how utterly disappointed I am in your behavior of the past few years.”

“But . . . I haven’t done anything,” Lupin protested.

Harry hauled one leg up and crossed his ankle over his knee. “That’s sort of the point, Remy. You sat back, just like you always did in school, and looked the other way while those bastards took my son, my Harry, and ensconced him in a damn cell fashioned from a box room at the cottage. You looked the other way while he was beaten on a daily basis, whipped, and forced to learn to respond to threats while inches from unconsciousness.

“You never lifted a finger to help my son, my precious boy, a child you professed back then to find adorable and enchanting. You said at one point you wished he was yours. You sat there and turned your head away as my son was raped multiple times a day. In fact, you looked away as Snivellus poured potions down my son’s throat and forced him to transform into an incubus, a part human like yourself.

“You, Remy, who has suffered years of discrimination for being a werewolf, decades of pain and heartache, and measures enacted by our government to try to contain you and restrict your life, did absolutely bloody nothing to help Harry. You pretended that because you never actively helped them along that it was perfectly all right to overlook my child being trained to be a mindless, merciless killer. After all I’ve done for you, all the love and support Lily and I gave you, you repay me like this?”

“But, James, he killed Siri!”

Harry scoffed and dropped his leg. “Remy, that’s a complete crock and we both know it. Harry was not the one to hold a wand to Siri’s head and cast Avada Kedavra. Sirius fell through the veil, as well you know. You did, I must admit, prevent Harry from racing through after him, and you did help him learn how to cast a patronus, so I suppose I must be grateful for one or two small things.

“Siri died because he was careless and you know it. Siri died because he didn’t follow orders and remain at the house. Though, frankly, considering what a bastard Dumbledore was being, I can’t say I blame him for racing off to protect Harry.”

“How can you say that? If Harry had stayed at school where he belonged, Siri would never have been in danger!” Lupin protested.

“And if Dumbledore had bothered to clue my son in on a few things, he never would have had his mind invaded by Voldemort, nor been confused. And if Snivellus had actually taught my boy instead of torturing him for _my_ sins, Harry might have learned how to protect his mind. And all of that is really beside the point. Harry was a child. A child, damn it! It was the responsibility of the adults, like _you_ , to guide him, care for him, and properly teach him.

“I can’t believe how badly you’ve messed things up. It’s going to take me and Lily years once Harry is dead to get his head screwed back on straight thanks to people like you. You promised, Remus. You stood there and looked me straight in the eye and promised to take care of my boy, my only child, should something happen to us. And you’ve failed us in almost every imaginable way. You let your anguish over Siri’s death completely warp your mind and transfer any and all blame onto an innocent child. How could you!?”

“I barely even knew him,” Lupin whispered. “He only wanted Siri.”

“And that makes it okay!?” Harry launched himself from the chair and loomed over the table. “So now, in addition to being a coward, a hypocrite, and a bold-faced liar, you’ll now add jealousy to the list? Christ, Remus! If I had had _any_ idea what you would end up like I’d have never become your friend. I would have spared myself the heartache and the work and the constant worries about your health, and I’d have treated you like the submissive, cowering little dog you are!

“You didn’t even _bother_ to get to know my boy. Just like always, you looked the other way, tried not to get involved. You never once stepped foot near him in all those years, except when you had to because Albus talked you into teaching for a year. Hagrid was the one to give him photographs of us, for Christ’s sake. You couldn’t even be bothered to do that for him, not even anonymously.

“And for the love of god, Remus, you sat there while they turned my poor boy into a sex slave! Snivellus, Remus! You let Snivellus use my son as his personal sex toy and never lifted a damn finger to—you know what, Remus? I hope you enjoy your stay in—”

An odd, echoing bell sounded, causing both of them to look up sharply. Harry messed with his hair again and said, “Right. That’s me done, then. Time for me to go back to Lily. You should probably be thankful she won’t be coming for her own visit.”

“James! Don’t go. Please don’t leave me here.”

Harry snorted and turned away, gradually fading from sight as he approached one of the walls.

Remus launched to his feet to follow, but staggered back into his chair almost immediately when the room went a bit funny. Parts of the ceiling began to drip down around him like pseudopods, stretching down to brush against the floor. Remus obviously took them for a warning as he stayed right where he was, hands tightly gripping the arms of his chair.

Voldemort gazed at his mate with a slight smile as Harry altered his features and clothing, had a quick look in a standing mirror, then headed right back in. A curious bending of light happened along one wall, a shimmering column of sorts, and out of it stepped Harry, who then strode over to the empty chair, but opted to stand.

“Remus,” he said flatly.

“Siri?” Lupin sounded like his heart was breaking and his eyes had gone quite suspiciously shiny. “Siri, is that really you?”

“Like you bloody care,” was Harry’s irritated response.

“Siri, how can you say that?”

Harry shrugged indifferently. “Why not? You don’t care, do you, about much of anything except yourself, your comfort, your blind eye to what happens around you. . . . You know, it was so convenient back then, in school, what with you always looking the other way when we were screwing with people like Snivellus, but I’ve come to realize since I died that it’s just not right. You were so god damn afraid we’d turn on you, rat out your secret, if you so much as once made even a passing reference to what complete assholes we were being.

“Even Peter had more balls than you in that respect. And I see that’s kept on. You’re just the same, Remus. You keep gazing off into the distance, trying not to get involved, forgetting your commitments, refusing to do the things you agreed to do. Some prefect you made. James was right. I did _not_ want to believe him, but he made me sit there and watch.

“It broke my bloody heart what you did, or didn’t do. Do you recall that night? When we all met in the Shrieking Shack? Harry gave us his trust, allowed us to explain, and then, against all reason, argued against killing someone that he damn well knew deserved it! That’s the boy you allowed them to turn into a mindless flesh doll who doesn’t bat an eyelash over the idea of slicing open a little girl’s neck if his trainer orders it.”

“I didn’t do anything, Siri! I—”

“Shut up!” Harry barked. “They already know your reasoning, Remus, your pathetic excuses and dodgy logic. None of us need to hear it again.”

Lupin glanced fearfully at the ceiling again, then dropped his eyes.

“I remember that night like it was yesterday. Harry was so happy when I asked him to come live with me. I could finally fulfill my promise to James. I was such a damn fool to run off after Peter, but I was being given a chance to make up for my sins. I could give Harry a loving home again. I could protect him from people that wanted to hurt him, or use him. He seemed almost desperately happy at the idea.

“I was willing to give up the rest of my life if need be, and indeed I did, to keep him safe and happy. I at least had the lousy excuse of being a hothead, Remus, when I made such a huge mistake. But you. . . . You, Remus, are level-headed, calm, restrained, logical. Even if you couldn’t have taken Harry away to live with you, you could have made damn sure those muggles wouldn’t abuse him. You could have stopped letting Albus work your strings and done as you’d promised to do!”

“He’s the leader of the Light, Siri! He knew what he was doing!”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “I know how Albus works. So long as he says it’s okay, everyone is expected to break laws left and right without a murmur of discontent. I guess that’s part of why you all decided it was a grand idea to nod your heads approvingly when he suggested turning Harry into an assassin. After all, that’s the only thing he was good for, right? The prophecy child, only ultimately even alive to kill a single man, and then he could be thrown away, is that it? But hey, so long as we’re training him for that, let’s all break our promises to look out for him and let some of our number try to beat him into submission.

“And while we’re at it, let’s be a mass pox on humanity in general! It doesn’t matter. You’re avoiding it again, just like you always do. You made a promise to James. Hell, you made one to me. And you broke them, simply by turning your head away and pretending you didn’t see it happening. You disgust me, Remus. I can’t see how you’ll ever be able to make up for this.”

“Siri, I’d do anything for you,” Lupin said pleadingly. “I love you.”

Harry shook his head. “If you’d loved me you’d have kept your promises. And in any case, it’s not me you need to make it up to or repay.”

“What . . . do you mean?”

“I’m beginning to think you’ve spent all your brain cells wanking. But don’t worry, I’m not going to be your last visitor. My advice is to stop running away, stop hiding, stop burying your head in the god damned sand, and stop looking away so you can still bear to look at yourself in the mirror each morning. Only when you can do that can you even start to make it up to the person you’ve truly betrayed. James and I are incidental in this little mess, and I expect you’re going to be spending a very long time repaying a certain debt, my old friend.”

Voldemort noted that whatever drugs Harry had pumped into the werewolf were still affecting him, so he assumed all those observations had had something to do with figuring out the proper dosage.

“Hell,” Harry added, “isn’t a nice place. I’m sure the boys down there will find an appropriate way to make you come to your senses about who and what you really are, and what you’re good for.”

“Siri!” Lupin said, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye and trickling down his cheek.

That same bell sounded again. Harry glanced up and nodded, then turned without another word and walked away, again gradually disappearing from sight. Voldemort watched as his mate changed things a third time and headed back in using that same odd column of light as an apparent portal.

“Peter?” Lupin sounded completely bewildered and his face was a study in shock. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, the tears that had begun slipping down his cheeks in earnest slacking somewhat.

Harry stayed well away from the man, fidgeting and moving in place restlessly. “I asked, they gave,” he replied evasively, flicking his eyes down for a second.

Lupin furrowed his brow in confusion before a dawning look of realization crossed his face. “Why?”

“I’ve been good lately, working hard, following orders,” he said a bit nervously, almost defensively, then visibly braced himself and stood up straight, looking Lupin in the eye. “I had something to say to you, and they’re letting me.”

“What on earth could you possibly say to me, Peter? You betrayed Lily and James!”

Harry sneered and started fidgeting again, his shoulders curling forward a bit. “Yeah, I did, but they only died. I wasn’t the one who practically signed their son into slavery and torment for nearly a half decade, now was I. You looked on me with scorn for years, Remus, thinking I was a weak, sniveling coward. And look at you,” he said scathingly. “Too damn weak to do much of anything but be indifferent. Didn’t have the strength to fight, did you. At least I was useful to my lord. All you could do was nod your head and look away, accepting whatever Dumbledore told you. You’re so weak, Remus, so pathetic. You disgust even me.”

“How dare you say such things to me!?” Lupin half rose from his seat, then hastily sat back down the second the ceiling went all funny.

“I dare because it’s true. You didn’t even raise a token protest against that boy’s treatment. You’re nothing but a dog, Remus, a weak, whiny little puppy. You need a master of your own to keep you in line since you obviously can’t be trusted to think for yourself anymore.”

Lupin went white with shock.

“At least I had the guts to return to my master and help him, and start paying the penance for my sins. You’re too weak to even do that. You’d rather lay down and die than try to atone for your sins. I can see it now. There you are saying, ‘No, really, that’s all right. Kill me however you like. I couldn’t possibly stir myself to make a decision of that magnitude,’” he said mockingly.

“That’s not true,” Lupin said sort of desperately.

Harry sneered again. “You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll get lucky downstairs, Remus,” he said, then cringed as flames began flickering up through the floor nearby. He let out a fearful squeal and cowered, then turned and scurried off into thin air.

Harry breathed a deep sigh on the other side of the wall, then altered his appearance back to that of Harry Potter. Voldemort took a moment to rise from his chair and engulf his mate in a hug, then place a soft kiss on his lips. “Are you all right to continue, my sweet?”

Harry trembled slightly in his arms, then took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes,” he said firmly, “I am. If he falls for it, he can spend the next few years, and maybe forever, paying penance. I’ve certainly spent time planting the seeds in his head, that’s for sure. I’m just still angry, that’s all.”

Voldemort looked back over his shoulder to see Lupin in tears again. The man was muttering in distress about his friends hating him even in the afterlife and how he would never have the chance to atone. He arched a brow as he ran one hand over Harry’s hair, thinking that his mate was very clever to play on such an insidious weakness in the man’s makeup.

Remus Lupin, half-blood. He had been raised with plenty of muggle influences, including religion, and underneath it all, he believed. Add in some mild psychotropic drugs, spells to dampen the man’s werewolf-keen senses, plus an even sketchy representation of something that might possibly be a waiting room in limbo. . . . Harry prancing around castigating Lupin in the guises of his former friends was quite an interesting tactic in his opinion.

Lupin was starting to become very agitated, so Voldemort kissed Harry again and caressed his cheek. “If you want to continue, we should do so now.”

“All right.”

Voldemort nodded and cast the first spell at his throat, then said, “It’s time.” Even as Lupin began frantically looking around to find the source of the strangely choral voice that had just spoken Voldemort removed the spell and cast another to make the ceiling reach down pseudopods again.

This time, however, they were not a warning. This time they reached down to surround Lupin, keeping him in place. Still more dripped down from the ceiling and spread over his head as if to engulf him like some massive single-celled nightmare of a beast. Lupin reacted by hyperventilating, then passing out, slightly simplifying things.

Voldemort snorted softly, gave Harry another kiss, then released him and stepped through the wall, calmly spelling the pseudopods away and putting Lupin back in his coma. Harry stepped up and levitated the man, then directed him toward one of the walls as Voldemort made it vanish. Behind it was a different sort of setting, nearly the actual dungeon itself.

While Voldemort removed all evidence of the limbo room, Harry directed Lupin onto a bare patch on the floor, stripped off his clothing, then proceeded to kick and beat him until he might have fallen unconscious naturally, not to mention toss in a few nasty spells in order to be sure there was plenty of blood. Then he healed most of the injuries he had just caused, but didn’t clean up, and did nothing for the pain itself.

Voldemort was happy to create a new false wall for the second, presumably much shorter half the of show, then brought his chair and wine over so as to get a better view of things.

Harry moved Lupin into a cell, closed and locked it, then wandered off for a minute. He returned with a golem in tow, this one dressed to look like a Death Eater, and positioned him just so. “Stay,” he said quietly, then went over to Voldemort and crawled onto his lap to snuggle for a while.

A short time later Harry slipped off and turned, making his way back through the false wall and into what would appear to be a stone corridor lined with cells. He released Lupin from his coma and turned to the golem, then cast crucio on it. And he kept doing that, ignoring the programmed sounds of agony, until he noticed Lupin coming to.

“You were told _not_ to play with the prisoner,” Harry said harshly after lifting the spell. “Be grateful he lived, else you might be dead yourself. Now get out of my sight!”

The golem got to its knees, touched its forehead to the stone floor, then rose and staggered off. Only then did Harry turn to face Lupin. “You’re lucky, you know. I found out that some of the Death Eaters were quite keen on the idea of tormenting one of Dumbledore’s little friends, so naturally I rushed right over here to administer a bit of chastisement. You were quite nearly dead, but I managed to get you breathing again after a bit of struggle.”

Lupin was obviously feeling the effects of his recent beating, and certainly could see and smell the blood that covered him. He dragged himself up to a sitting position and looked at Harry wonderingly. “I’m . . . alive?”

“Yes. You’re quite popular around here, unfortunately. New blood, you see. It seems some of the boys weren’t paying attention when you were declared to be off limits. They get terribly bored at times not having enough people to play with.”

“I don’t understand.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s really quite simple, Lupin. You—”

“Harry?” Lupin broke in, looking really quite confused.

“It is rude to interrupt,” Harry said in a frigid voice. “Now, as I was saying, you belong to me. I get to decide what happens to you, and no one else is allowed to lay a finger on you.”

“Belong?”

Harry nodded. “That’s right. Whether you live or die is in my hands. And I must say, I’ve got a huge bone to pick with you. Do you have any idea what my dad would say if he knew what you allowed to happen? Or Sirius? I really don’t think you’d want to know, as I doubt you could handle it. In any case, Lord Voldemort was generous enough to let me have you for my very own. He’s really quite thoughtful and kind once you get to know him. I quite like him.”

Lupin managed to look slightly panic stricken at that. “Harry, how could you?”

“How could I what?”

“How could you—I mean—he’s the Dark Lord, for pity’s sake! He’s a monster! He eats babies for breakfast!”

Harry rolled his eyes expansively. “Good grief, Lupin, you sound like a hysterical woman now. Lord Voldemort does no such thing. He eats bacon and eggs and toast like a normal person. Well—” Harry paused to put a finger to his lips and appeared to consider. “I have seen him eat a bagel, now I think about it, with cream cheese.”

“Harry! He is not a nice person. He’s a psychotic madman who wants you dead!”

Harry favored Lupin with a patronizing smile. “Don’t be silly. Why would he want me dead when we’re such good friends? Why, I just love him. He’s been so kind and thoughtful and understanding and helpful. . . .”

Lupin dropped his head and started whispering; it sounded suspiciously like prayer.

“Now, I don’t doubt you’re wondering why on earth I’d be so close to Lord Voldemort. You see, when I escaped my trainers—delightful people, really, and I’m sure you got the memos on their deaths?—I ran straight to the one person I felt I could actually trust to treat me like something other than a mindless killing machine. And I figured, since I couldn’t commit suicide thanks to Sevvie’s tampering, he might be kind enough to kill me if I asked.

“Imagine my surprise when he didn’t immediately do that. No, he decided to help me. He got a bit angry when he found out what you people did. Oh, you wouldn’t believe how upset he was when he found out where I’d been kept. And then to realize you were aware of it? Goodness gracious, you wouldn’t believe the number of things that died that day. I think it upset him a bit that his enemies, the supposed defenders of the Light, were outdoing him in the dark lord department.

“Anyway, I’m sure he’ll get over that almost as quickly as all of you lot are dead. But you’re mine, Lupin, I own you body and soul. And do you know what? I’m going to give you a choice.”

“Harry, please let me go.”

Harry affected a shocked look. “Why on earth would I do that? Sevvie took that sort of request as another excuse to whip me. Would that make you happy? Being whipped, I mean.”

Lupin pushed forward toward the bars, dropping back as soon as Harry said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. See, those bars are coated with silver. I don’t think you’d appreciate how that would make you feel if you were silly enough to touch them. Now, where was I? Right. I am, despite everything, a fairly kind person, Lupin, so I’m giving you a choice.”

Harry reached into his pocket and produced two pills. “You see these? They each do something very different.” Harry conjured up a stool and had a seat, then conjured a small table and placed the pills on top. “Please note the colours. Those are important.

“Now, the yellow pill—that’s yellow for cowardice, by the way—will, if taken, give you an excruciatingly painful, yet fairly quick death.” Then he muttered, as though to himself, “Quite frankly, I’m not even sure I should bother to explain the other one. Given his track record I’m not sure he’d have the fortitude for it.”

Then he blinked and glanced at the table, then said, “The red pill—that’s red for courage—will not kill you. You’d take that either because you’re just too damn spineless to die, or because you actually feel a shred of remorse and want very badly to start making things up to me. That, if taken, is going to make you feel quite calm, actually, and stiffen up that spine of yours to prepare you for several years of a type of service.”

“I will not be a Death Eater. I’d rather die,” Lupin said weakly.

“Good lord, Lupin. Like you’d ever be any good as a Death Eater. Trust me, it was the furthest thing from my mind. Anyway, that service would last for the same amount of time I was in training. After that point, you’d be free to go if you wanted. You might even find when you do eventually die for good that my parents and Sirius are inclined to be ever so slightly forgiving in nature. After all, if they could be watching, I get the feeling they’d be very disappointed in you at this point.”

“I did. . . .”

“Did what?”

“Die. I saw them,” Lupin said softly, his eyes wide and staring. “They. . . .”

Harry arched a brow in disbelief. “Medical science shows that plenty of people experience hallucinations during near death experiences. Lord knows I’ve had enough of them myself. Now, can I get on with this, or do you plan on interrupting me until the cows come home? You’re not exactly off to a good start here if you do plan on redeeming yourself.”

Lupin looked up, tears slipping down his cheeks again. “Sorry.”

Harry nodded and continued. “It’s a very simple choice. Death or service. With one of them you get to take the coward’s way out and head straight off to wherever it is we go when we die. With the other, you get to hand yourself over into my care. And just so we’re all straight on that deal, let me explain a bit.

“I would provide your food and shelter, so you would never have to worry about money, or where your next meal is coming from, or even how shabby your clothes are. You would not be punished unless you actually deserved it, such as by disobeying an order or showing disrespect. You would not be Marked, nor would you be expected to fight, research, or do anything else directly connected with the day-to-day workings of Lord Voldemort’s army. In point of fact, you’d be about as far as possible from anything to do with the actual war between Light and Dark.

“You would, however, obey me without question. If I told you to fetch my slippers, you’d do it, or be disciplined. And no, by that I do not mean I’d whip you until you bled, or beat you unconscious, or anything else of that nature. If I told you to sleep on the floor, you’d do it. Hell, if I told you to act like a dog for an hour, you’d do it. And through all this, you would be pretty much blissfully disconnected from the war. You could look the other way and pretend it didn’t exist.”

Lupin shook his head slowly. “I still—why are you even giving me a choice?”

“Oh, that’s easy. You see, you’re the very last remaining tie I have to my parents and Sirius. I’m not especially keen on the idea of killing you because of that, even though I’m really not happy with you. I’d get what I wanted, and you’d get to opt out of the war entirely.”

Lupin looked off to the side for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t see how any of that counts toward making it up to you.”

Harry laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s not quite that easy, Lupin. Part of making it up to me is actively choosing to place yourself in my hands. If you’d rather die, though, that’s fine. I think I could somehow manage to survive if I knew the last of my father’s friends had gone to the great beyond. Just say the word and I’ll hand over that yellow pill.”

Harry got to his feet and stretched. “Actually, I’ll tell you what. I will give you some time to think about it, and come back later on. I’ll leave these two pills here for you, though, in case you decide while I’m away. I’ll also make sure that no one comes around to bother you again, so you won’t end up being beat to death or tortured by another bunch of people who can’t bloody listen.”

And with that, Harry picked up the two pills and slipped them through the bars, then strolled off down the seeming hall and disappeared around a corner. Voldemort welcomed Harry onto his lap less than a minute later, and wrapped his arms around his mate as Harry buried his face in Voldemort’s neck.

“What do you think he’ll do?” Harry asked, his voice muffled.

“I don’t know. Either way is the coward’s way, Harry. He may finally face up to what he’s done and choose red, or even be too afraid to actually die and choose it anyway. Then again, he may decide he’s terrified given your claim of being close to me.”

Harry sort of shrugged against him. “Either way, I think the whole limbo thing really screwed with his head. If he goes red, do you have anyone in mind for a handler?”

“For after he’s trained? I can think of a few people who might suit. I’d have to make sure of it, though, with some digging or truth serum.”

Harry shifted against him and started chuckling. “It’s funny, sort of. I was only kidding with those things I said to Tonks. I knew how much it would upset her. And now we’re sitting here waiting to see if he actively chooses to be turned into a mindless little doggy.”

Voldemort kissed Harry’s hair. “To be fair, he doesn’t know that for sure. You did hint at it quite strongly, though. I’m also sure that injection has him at a bit of a loss.”

“Yeah, but that’s more or less worn off and it wasn’t all that strong anyway, just enough to keep him slightly off kilter and a bit dreamy for the whole limbo sequence to make him think he really might be dead and awaiting judgment.”

“Point conceded. You still haven’t fully explained, Harry. How is this torture?”

Harry sat back and smiled softly. “You mean as a dog? Because I don’t plan on totally scrambling his brains. He’s not going to be completely mindless, so he’ll always be aware that he made the choice to do it. Even if he ends up being deliriously happy in his new life, there’s always the potential for a part of him somewhere deep inside to be screaming in horror. At any rate, it’d still be four plus years of constant humiliation, possibly for the rest of his life.”

“All right, and the fact that he’s a werewolf?”

“Part of conditioning, Tom. I spent ages going over research, case studies, you name it. I know what drugs to use to soften him up, and what techniques to employ.”

“Techniques that don’t involve beating someone into submission?” He leaned to the side slightly for a moment, but Lupin was still just whispering to himself and crying.

“Absolutely. Muggle militaries have been using hypnosis for decades on their operatives, or some of them at least. I’ve got loads of case studies that detail instances of where someone has used it to get people to kill, or submit, or any number of things. Speaking of which. . . .”

“Yes?” Voldemort arched a brow.

“I confess that I’ve been considering something, but I don’t know if you’d be willing to go along with it. We seem to have a number of Death Eaters who can’t keep their cocks in their trousers. If my little experiment works out to the maximum value, what’s to say Lupin can’t be the compound fuck toy? So long as there was a handler nearby during periods when anyone could visit him. . . .

“Well, any Death Eater could drop by and find a bit of stress relief, either fucking Lupin or getting sucked off by him. I suppose the females could avail themselves as well, though we’d have to make certain he couldn’t actually get anyone pregnant. Maybe I’m wrong, though, when I don’t think most women would be content to flop onto the grass and be shagged or gone down on in full view of anyone who cared to watch.

“At any rate, he’d be experiencing a bit of what I was forced to endure, so that’s additional torture if an aware part of his mind objects and is helpless to resist his treatment. And yes, even worse if the majority of his mind is screaming out, ‘Must please, obey, submit.’”

“You know, that almost sounds like what you did to your own mind, Harry, but in reverse.” He took another look at Lupin to see no real change.

Harry turned quite thoughtful at that, absently gnawing on his lower lip, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I reckon if I worked at it hard enough, and maybe if you helped me, I could make damn sure there was always a part of his original mind watching yet paralyzed.”

Voldemort chuckled and said, “That’s very reassuring. I was beginning to think you were losing your edge, my sweet. Though, I suppose, after this is all over, if you want to run away with me to a tropical island, I won’t object.”

Harry grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m quite sure that along the way I’ll be back up to my elbows in blood. And I’ll definitely consider that island.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I mind. At least that way we’d know where people were slipping off to and not be stumbling over them in the most unlikely places, such as where we would like to be. Rank hath its privileges, after all. I might well have to kill Draco Malfoy if he doesn’t shape up.”

Harry laughed merrily. “Now, Tom, it’s not like he actually saw us that last time. And now you’ve ammunition for years to come because of his reaction. I find him quite amusing, actually, and half of that is thinking that he’d die on the spot if he knew who Lord Thanatos really was, and that we saw him for sure.”

Voldemort inclined his head briefly. “If he amuses you, my sweet, then I’ll hold off on killing him unless you give me the go ahead, all right?” Then he leaned again and said, “Look at Lupin, Harry.”

Harry whipped his head around in time to see the werewolf taking and swallowing the red pill.


	11. Red

_“Because some people should be a living reminder to all of the price of betrayal. . . .”_

Lupin sat there for a few seconds, tears still streaming down his face, then suddenly looked up. He reached forward and picked up the yellow pill, then flung it violently through the bars before curling up on the floor to await his fate.

Harry turned his head back to Voldemort and said, “Aw, that’s so sweet. That showed quite a bit of courage on his part, sending off his only easy way to death. I think warping his mind won’t be so difficult after all. Still, I must wonder what would have happened if he’d taken that one instead. I mean, his reaction when he realized it didn’t do a damn thing might have been priceless. And then I could have indulged in a spot of physical torture. You know, they used my weakness against me as torture, that being sex, so it might have been a great deal of fun to use his against him and whip out a bunch of silver to play with.”

Voldemort chuckled. “You’re definitely not going soft on me.”

Harry managed to look offended. “I said I wasn’t. Listen, we’ve got about twenty minutes or so while that little drug cocktail works into his system and softens him up for my meddling.” He licked his lips and started tracing idle patterns on Voldemort’s chest, then said, “I would really, really like if you’d make love to me, Tom.”

Voldemort stifled a sigh. Harry was giving him that wide-eyed, hopeful look again that, if left long enough, would morph to include a pout, complete with artistically trembling lower lip and terribly sad eyes, and past that, fat crocodile tears and an expression better found on a five year old waif living on the streets of London and begging for a crust to fill their tummy—or so he supposed. After all, he had always caved to Harry’s requests before his mate had a chance to pull out the really big guns.

“Harry, my sweet, we are in a dungeon,” he said gently, not at all adverse to the idea of making his mate writhe beneath him in passion, but wanting to get a bit of his own back first for once.

“We’ve got fake walls and a nice enough spot,” Harry protested. “And I want you so badly.”

“I am not going to make love to you in a dungeon. Even I have limits, my sweet.” And then he slid a hand up under his mate’s shirt and just barely brushed his fingertips over the scales on his back.

Harry’s eyes instantly closed and he swayed forward dangerously, then suddenly sat up straight with a miffed expression. “That is so not fair. You can’t bloody tease me like that and not follow through, Tom.”

Voldemort gave his mate a satisfied smirk. “Oh, Harry. You can say all you like, my sweet, but perhaps that’s what happens when you start giving me ‘that look’ to cloud my mind and get your way.”

“Look? What look? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry protested, appearing quite confused.

Voldemort tipped his head down and to the side, then arched a brow. The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, completing a knowing look shot at his mate.

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed and shift uncomfortably on his lap before saying, “Oh. That look. We could . . . go up to your office?” The hopeful eyes were suddenly back.

Voldemort’s mouth twitched in amusement as he lifted his head. “All right, Harry. Let us go upstairs, then.”

He was further amused when once in his office his mate practically shredded his clothing in his efforts to get naked, then lowered himself onto the desk’s surface, his ass right up at the edge. At least Voldemort had had time to cast a cushioning charm first.

Round about twenty minutes later he was hauling a limp Harry up off the desk, feeling a bit wobbly himself. “Get dressed, my sweet. You have a prisoner to play with.”

Harry glanced at his clothing and snorted, then shook a wand into his hand and cast a few repair spells before dressing. After that he pressed a kiss to Voldemort’s lips and skipped back down the secret stairway.

Voldemort found Harry sitting on a stool in front of Lupin’s cell, so he settled himself back into his chair and resumed drinking wine. He found it mildly interesting that the werewolf was sniffing the air and licking his lips. Or at least, until Harry started in again. Perhaps he liked the scent of sex.

“Lupin,” he said, “can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve chosen to place yourself in my hands of your own free will for at least the next four years. So, given that, I’m going to start setting up some rules for you, the first of which is that your name is Moony from this point forward. You will not answer to Remus or Lupin any longer. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. I’m sure you’re wondering just what exactly your service to me will be. You’re going to start paying me back by experiencing a bit of what my life was like for the past few years, however mild a version this may be, and you’re going to be my pet, Moony, my tame werewolf or dog.”

Lupin managed to look the teensiest bit alarmed by that, but his drugged state prevented him from caring enough to actually protest.

“To that end, you’ll be undergoing quite a bit of training and conditioning to make sure you can adequately perform your new role in life. You will obey my orders without question, Moony, and you will submit to me in all things. That will also be true for any other person I designate as a handler for you. Do you understand?”

Lupin hesitated, but said, “Yes.”

“Good boy, Moony. Keep this up and I might even give you a reward. Now, we’re going to start off with some interesting little toys to help you out.” Harry looked back over his shoulder and said, “Tom? Would you please help me for a bit?”

Voldemort set down his wine and stood, coming to stand next to his mate. “What do you need, Harry?”

“I don’t think he’s going to misbehave just this moment—I don’t think it’s possible in his condition—but I would like if you’d stand ready to knock him flat if he so much as twitches the wrong way while I get him set up.”

“Certainly.” Voldemort produced his wand again and stood slightly off to one side.

Harry stood up and summoned a large box, then opened it and rummaged around. “Okay. I’m going to open his cell.” Then he turned to Lupin and said, “You will not attempt to leave your cell, Moony. You will not struggle, or protest, or otherwise give me any trouble.” A quick spell unlocked the cell door, so Harry opened it and dragged the box in with him.

“Hold out your right hand, Moony,” Harry ordered, then nodded when the man obeyed. He reached into the box and removed a pair of what closely resembled fingerless gloves. However, the material did not allow for separation like normal gloves would, and essentially prevented the wearer from spreading their fingers apart, or even independently up and down. Though, while worn, they would allow for individual fingers to bend at the knuckle separately from each other.

After placing one on Lupin’s right hand he asked for the other and likewise dressed it. Both gloves were spell-locked to prevent removal by anyone other than Harry himself. The next thing Harry said was, “Get on your hands and knees, Moony, and remain still.”

He pulled a vaguely complicated harness out and proceeded to strap Lupin into it, which effectively prevented the man from ever standing upright, nor lay out flat. Lupin would be forced to crawl everywhere, and would have to take his rest on his back or side. That was also spell-locked into place.

The next thing from the box was a heavy collar, which Harry put around Lupin’s neck and locked, then ran straps from the harness to it and locked them into place as well.

Voldemort watched as his mate paused and seemed to be considering something, then reached back into the box for another harness of sorts and what looked like what had been used on Severus, minus the barbs. Harry fit the cylinder into the harness, then inserted it fully into Lupin’s ass and clipped the straps of the new harness to the first so that his new pet couldn’t remove it.

“Right. That should do for now,” Harry said, then pushed to his feet, exiting the cell a moment later. “Moony, follow me,” he ordered, then stepped through the false wall and into a much larger area.

Voldemort also followed, keeping a close eye on the crawling Lupin and a ready wand, then sat back down in his chair and had a sip of wine.

“Sit, Moony,” Harry said, then summoned the stool over and sat down. “You feel very good right now, don’t you, Moony?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right, pet. And for so long as you obey like a good little dog, you usually will feel good. Now, all those nice things I just put on you—the gloves and the harnesses and the collar? I feel it’s only fair to warn you that all of them are internally threaded with silver, Moony. If you were to do something silly like try to break them or shred them, you’d end up in a severe amount of pain and give yourself silver poisoning. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Lupin nodded.

“And if that happened, I might well let you die a slow and agonizing death for being too stupid to live. I suggest you be a good little doggy and not mess with them. The pill you took has had the effect of more or less stripping you of any will to resist, but it won’t last forever. It will, however, make it very easy for you to obey me for the time being. Now, since I don’t particularly want to have to drug you on a regular basis, I have a little something different in mind.”

Voldemort watched as Harry proceeded to talk Lupin into some sort of deep trance—he assumed it was the hypnosis his mate had mentioned earlier—and reel off a list of rules for the werewolf to live by and obey. Harry then established a few phrases to cause Lupin to return to a trance when spoken—by him only—or wake back up to a more normal state of consciousness.

Interestingly, Harry did not attempt to force Lupin to obedience. Instead he used directives such as, “You feel a very strong desire to obey,” and, “You derive pleasure from obeying orders.” Voldemort thought that afforded all sorts of opportunities for mischief. Lupin could attempt to rebel, but over time his conditioning would get him to obey without hesitation, slowly warping his mind.

Harry finally stood up and stretched, then asked, “Do you like that sensation, Moony? Having a cock in your ass?”

Lupin nodded dreamily.

“And do you like to suck cock, Moony?”

Another dreamy nod.

“Excellent. Stay.” Then he wandered back over to the cell area and did a bit of rearrangement, making three of them join together to make one larger cell, a third of which was designated as a human-sized litter box. Harry softened the remainder of the floor so that Lupin wouldn’t bruise himself excessively moving about, then pulled a bowl out of the box and set it down, filling it with a kind of kibble a few moments later.

An odd little water tank was set up; the only way to get any water was to . . . suck the cock-shaped protrusion. Harry also affixed another sex toy to the wall at just the right height in case his new pet felt the urge to impale himself at any time for the duration that the cell was his home. The last thing he did was produce a overly large poofy cushion of sorts, presumably to serve as Lupin’s bed. Harry then called out, “Back in the cell, Moony.”

The extra harness set up was removed, the plug spelled clean, and hung on a hook on the wall. “By the way, Moony, you are forbidden to use your hands to give yourself pleasure. Dogs don’t have hands, remember? They have paws. So unless you’re flexible enough to suck your own cock. . . . I’m going to go away for a while, so you do whatever it is doggies do, Moony. I’ll be back later on to see how you’re doing, and see about a bit more in the way of conditioning. Once I’m sure you’ll behave yourself, I might take you out for a walk and give you a nicer place to call home.”

Harry backed out of the cell, dragging the box with him, then closed it and locked it. Lupin just sat there on his haunches, staring at him. Harry was at Voldemort’s side a moment later saying, “I think I’m ready for bed.”

* * *

The next day Harry went back to the dungeon, this time as Lord Thanatos. When he stepped up to the cell door it was to see Lupin curled up on his bed, though the man’s eyes opened quickly. “Hello, Moony. Do you recognize me?” Lupin looked confused by the question so Harry said, “Come a bit closer, pet. See if you can figure it out.”

Lupin slowly uncurled and got on all fours, then cautiously crawled closer, almost imperceptibly sniffing the air. Then he sat back on his haunches and aimed a puzzled look at him. “Harry?” he whispered.

“Correct,” Harry said. “In any case, you should get used to seeing me like this. It’s my new thing, being the co-ruler of the Death Eaters. They know me as Lord Thanatos, and by this guise. Now, the only people aware of that little fact are myself, Lord Voldemort, and you, so if word happens to get out, I’ll know to come find you and show you just exactly how creative I can be when I’m angry. Henceforth, you are forbidden to call me Harry. If you wish to use a title, Moony, refer to me as master. Are we clear on this?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now, until I am satisfied that you’re going to be the very best pet you can be, this will be your home. I will visit you on a regular basis to make sure you have food and water and that your sandbox is cleaned. And during those times I will very probably subject you to training. After that point, I have a nice little spot planned for you where you can enjoy the grass, and sunshine, and probably a fair number of visitors who’ll want to play with you.”

“Play?”

Harry nodded. “Of course, Moony. Dogs like to play. They like to please humans, don’t they. But don’t worry, I won’t let anyone cause you harm. By the time we get to that point I or Lord Voldemort will have picked a few people to keep an eye on you so that everyone plays nicely together.”

Harry conjured up a stool and had a seat, then said, “Moony, grim reaper.” Lupin slipped into a trance, which made Harry smile broadly. He spent the next hour bringing him in and out of one, then woke him up and moved things along.

“And are you enjoying your water dispenser, Moony?” he asked maliciously.

Lupin flushed and dropped his head.

“You did tell me you liked to suck cock, pet, so I made sure you had at least one to play with. I can see, though, that unless you cleaned up after yourself with your tongue, you haven’t used the one on the wall. I’ll have to set up some sort of automated system whereby certain things down here will be spelled clean without human intervention, such as your sandbox and that lovely penis I stuck on the wall for you to use if you got bored.”

Harry didn’t bother to mention that the water supply was faintly laced with a little something; Lupin probably already realized that given his enhanced senses. “And speaking of which, if you do manage to get yourself off at some point, I do expect you to clean up, Moony. I don’t want to come down here and find you’ve left puddles of cum all over the floor. That would upset me, and then I’d have to punish you.”

He could see a fresh flush blossom on Lupin’s face. That either meant he had already managed it and licked away the evidence, or was starting to feel the effects of the aphrodisiac he was forced to ingest whenever he drank. Harry idly wondered just how well a battery operated device would function within the compound and made a mental note to try that out if he got the chance.

“I am going to give you a bit of a treat, though, so you have something to look at. After all, dogs don’t read, so I can’t very well give you any books.” Harry whipped out a wand and did a bit of work, eventually ending up with two fake windows along the back wall of the cell. One of them appeared to look out over the training field he used for his exercise while the other was focused on one of the training rings the squads used.

“Well, I have things I need to do, Moony, so I’ll just be on my way for now. Try to behave yourself while I’m gone, and I’ll be back later to check on you.” Harry got up, vanished the stool, and walked away, ending up in that same training field a short time later for a workout, and hopefully to firmly impress upon his pet just how dangerous his new master was.

* * *

Voldemort was headed toward the kitchen when he noticed that Mrs Black’s portrait was not empty, and promptly diverted into her room.

“My lord, I have some information for you.”

“Remain,” he ordered, then stepped back out and out of sight and nudged Harry’s mind with an image of her. He received back a sense of agreement, so waited, and several minutes later his mate arrived. Voldemort returned to the room and took a seat, Harry sitting down a second later. “Report.”

“My lords, Phineas Nigellus decided to speak to me. He has informed me that he did tell Dumbledore about the betrayal by Ron Weasley, then suggested I make that known to any interested parties.”

Voldemort arched a brow. “That does not confirm his allegiance.”

She shook her head. “He did not make that plain, my lord. And, it has been some time since that incident, so he’s waited quite a while before approaching me.”

“Have you noticed that members of the Order have been exceptionally quiet of late in the hall?” asked Harry.

She appeared to think about that, then said, “No, my lord. I have not noticed such a change. However, Dumbledore did spend a lot of time in the front hall today, spell casting. It was near the front door. I think he might have been setting a trap of some kind. Unfortunately, he was sure to keep his work quiet, possibly simply to avoid attracting my ire.”

Harry glanced over at Voldemort and arched a brow, the question in his look nearly as good as spoken. Voldemort said, “Continue to listen. Pay attention to any changes in their habits, such as refraining from all speech within your range. If possible, verify exactly who that spell work is intended for. It may well be that Nigellus has decided to assist us, but that will have to remain an assumption for the time being. You may return.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, then stepped out of the frame.

They both rose and exited the room, it being an unspoken agreement that they would not broach any delicate subjects within her range of hearing. Voldemort led the way to the kitchen, being hungry, and went to prepare a meal once they arrived, only to be pushed out of the way.

“Tom, you can barely cook breakfast, never mind anything complicated. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long to be honest,” Harry said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “Sit down and let me do it. You’ll eat something decent for once.”

Voldemort did so, feeling rather touched by the gesture, especially as Harry had been forced to learn to cook to begin with by his family. “You’re wondering if that possible trap is for Ron, you, or either?”

Harry looked over his shoulder and nodded, then yanked out any number of things out of the supply cabinet and tossed them on the counter. A couple of minutes later he slid a small salad onto the table along with a fork and a glass of juice. “Now eat. There’s more coming.” As he continued to work his arcane magic on food he said, “It’s possible that Dumblefuck set a trap for one or either of us. He might finally be getting suspicious given that I’ve not really turned up. I guess it’s possible that he thought I starved, or even that some enterprising soul found me and decided to keep me hidden away once they realized my weakness.”

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off immediately by a Harry who hadn’t even turned around. “Eat, not talk. I’ll be damned if I’m going to cook and have you not even taste it,” his mate admonished, then continued, “You know, I have to wonder about how his mind works. I can almost see him questioning at this point if maybe Ron found me. Like . . . a Ron who had already gone to the dark side tripped over me and decided that you might like me as a present, and then brought me to you. After all, I should think anyone capable of delivering Harry Potter to Voldemort would shoot right up on the appreciation scale.”

Harry shuffled sideways and did some more arcane things Voldemort could not see, then said, “It’s fairly easy, after all, to prevent people from finding you with spells. Well, unless you happen to have a good grounding in the Dark Arts and are willing to go that route. Maybe we’re talking about a Ron who didn’t feel appreciated. He wasn’t much more than a lackey as it was, and Hermione certainly did her best to do his thinking for him. Maybe that sort of Ron _would_ consider such an action if he’d found me, thinking that you’d give him some actual power as a reward.”

Harry turned to face him with a plate in one hand. “Good, you’re done.” He stepped forward and slid the plate in front of him, then took a seat himself.

Voldemort looked down to see a perfectly grilled chicken breast accompanied by roast potatoes and broccoli. “How on earth did you manage to cook this so quickly?”

Harry shrugged. “Magic. I figured at some point I’d be living on my own and should probably know more than just the muggle way, so I taught myself. Dobby was always happy to provide me with supplies when I was at school. Now eat, damn it. Don’t let it get cold.”

Voldemort hastily picked up his fork again, then took a knife from the plate, and started in. There was no way he was going to waste such a thoughtful gesture from his mate. “Harry,” he said between bites, “this is wonderful.”

Harry positively beamed at him and nodded. “For the time being I don’t think I should try to go back into that house. I’m also starting to think I should place my other properties under the fidelius charm or something along those lines. I’m going to be really pissed off if I find out that Dumbledore has moved another one of his flaming ostriches into that house in London.”

Voldemort gave him a quizzical look.

Harry rolled his eyes before saying, “Well, all right. Flames for the whole phoenix bit. Ostrich? Half of them are quite happy to stick their heads in the sand and hope the bad men go away.” Then he paused, tapping his lower lip with one finger. “You know, a good clue as to what he’s thinking would be if he did something like re-cast that charm on headquarters, don’t you think? That is to say, if Ron were proven to be conclusively dead. Then we’d know he thinks I’m a danger, or _the_ danger.

“Then again, I suppose I can’t see why he would unless that happened. He’d want to capture Ron, or me. And if it was only cast with Ron in mind, and I went back in, they’d know if his appearance was reported again that someone was faking, which means there really _is_ a traitor in the Order, or I’m the one behind it.” Harry raised his brows at him.

Voldemort nodded, and still didn’t attempt to speak.

“If it was cast with me in mind, I don’t particularly feel like risking being caught. I can fight my way out of really nasty situations, but that doesn’t do me any good if I’m unconscious, and I should think, if the man has any brains at all, that he’d want his targets knocked out at first.”

Harry paused again, this time giving him a soulful look and pointing at his meal. “You really do like that? You’re not just trying to spare my feelings?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Harry, this is exquisite. I am enjoying it immensely. I would be very appreciative any time you wished to cook for me.”

Harry beamed another smile at him. “Maybe I just will, then. And you did say I could take care of you, Tom. Honestly, if you were a muggle you’d be the type to eat only microwave dinners, sandwiches, and junk food, simply because none of it is difficult to do.”

Voldemort shrugged off that remark knowing that his mate was probably correct. And frankly, the idea of most people preparing food for him was a prospect sure to make any paranoiac giddy with suspicion. He realized the only person he did trust not to try to poison him was Harry himself. So he finished his meal as he listened to his mate continue to voice his thoughts, then set down his cutlery with a replete sigh and sat back.

“Do you want any kind of pudding? I noticed some raspberries in there.”

“No, I really am full, Harry. Thank you.”

“Well, at some point I’ll have to interrogate you on likes and dislikes, but not right now,” Harry said as he rose and nabbed all the dishes. Those went into the sink for the scrubber to attack, so his mate turned back to him and said, “So, what do you think?”

Voldemort paused for a split second, decided the question had nothing to do with that meal, and said, “I think you’re right. It’s too much of a risk for you to return to that house. And while I can understand wanting to protect your properties in some fashion, you can only hold one Secret, Harry. You can’t protect all three that way by yourself. There’s only two of us, and no one else I would trust to assist.

“Also, doing so would make certain things very clear to Dumbledore. He might believe you could have gone renegade, but if those properties disappear off the map, he’s going to suspect you first, and not believe you’re barely eking out an existence in the back alleys of London accosting random strangers for your meals.”

Harry furrowed his brow and nodded. “I can accept that.”

“So, let’s play pretend for a few minutes. Let’s suppose that Ron Weasley really did join the Dark Lord. Whether he was the one to deliver Harry Potter or not, he could have proved his loyalty by delivering Remus Lupin. You could, if you felt like some mischief, go out as Weasley, stir up a hornet’s nest or two on a vaguely plausible mission, and make sure that several wizards or witches saw your face, not to mention saw you casting the Dark Mark into the air before you left the area. That would do a great deal to convince Dumbledore that one of his people has turned on him and no longer gives a damn about hiding it.”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he said, “And oh, wouldn’t that just make Mrs Weasley feel like a complete failure. That’s torture right there without even having her in the same room.”

“That would be one side benefit, yes,” Voldemort agreed.

“But what sort of mission?”

“I know you don’t like the idea of killing people simply for the sake of creating terror, so. . . .” Voldemort considered for several minutes. “The first thing that comes to mind is a very public kidnapping of Neville Longbottom, though that assumes the young man has any sort of freedom. But, I can only see you doing that if you actually wanted to find out what’s been done to him, so you could decide whether or not to help him.

“The next idea would be to hit a target in Hogsmeade. I happen to own quite a bit of property there under various names. I shan’t mind sacrificing some of them to muddy the waters if you wished to play a pyromaniac, Harry, and make the residents believe you’re trying to burn the whole village down.” His mate gave him a sharp look, prompting him to add, “Empty properties. Though, you’d be surprised at the number of fine, upstanding wizarding folk who actually pay rents to me.”

Harry started laughing at that and shaking his head.

“Well, my sweet, one does need funding in order to keep an army of wizards going, and that’s one fairly simple way to generate some ready coin. Besides, I find it amusing that all those nice people supporting the Light are actually shelling out to pay for their own terror. It’s like purchasing a ticket to watch a horror film, and not realizing you might actually end up as one of the victims.”

Harry doubled over, resting his head on the table, and kept right on laughing.

“In any case,” he said once his mate’s amusement had settled somewhat, “I can send Lucius off to the Ministry to see if he can determine if Weasley is currently on the list for the aurors. We might also want to send off a note to Skeeter to see if she’s stumbled over any gossip about him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sitting up straight, “and before we bother planning anything out in detail. I might do both, but we’d have to talk about it beforehand, what to do with Neville depending on what we find once we’ve tiptoed through his tulips. If we kidnapped him and made it look like Ron did it, and it turns out Neville isn’t someone I’d want to kill, then. . . .”

“It would be a bit much for another one to escape, I agree. You take care of Skeeter, I’ll talk to Lucius.”

“Okay.” Harry checked the time and grimaced. “I’ve got to dash. Told my boys we’d be having a meeting and I’ll be late if I don’t get going.” He pushed back quickly and stood, then rounded the table to press a kiss to Voldemort’s lips before jogging off.

* * *

A few evenings later Voldemort was enjoying a late night snack while reading, not willing to go to bed before Harry returned from another session with the werewolf. He had just finished a chapter on what to expect if your incubus was expecting when the young man in question strode in and immediately started stripping off his clothes. He looked up from his book to appreciate the show and absently popped another strawberry in his mouth.

When Harry finally did sling himself into a chair Voldemort said casually, “I’ve brought you another present, my sweet.”

Harry’s feet hit the floor a second later as he swiveled around and sat up properly, his eyes shining with excitement. “Really?”

“Really. I could try to claim it’s because you’ve been feeding me so well lately, but that’s not the reason. I had rather a bit of good luck—I think yours has been rubbing off on me—and stumbled over Dolores Umbridge. Naturally, knowing how very much you’d like to talk to her, I extended her an invitation she simply couldn’t refuse.”

Harry bounced to his feet and glided over, settling himself on Voldemort’s lap and leaning in to give him a very appreciative kiss; the book tumbled to the floor as Voldemort brought his hands up to tangle in his mate’s hair. It wasn’t until several minutes later that they broke apart, at which point Harry said, “I think Moony will be ready soon for a bit of fracturing.”

Voldemort smiled and tilted his head slightly to the side. “Will you be wanting my help with that?”

“Yes, I think so. To double-check my work if nothing else. The best part is that werewolves have such good natural mental defenses, which means he’d have to struggle really, really hard to undo things. His own nature will work against him.”

“I’ll remember to stock up on more of those potions, Harry. Do you have any ideas for our new guest?”

Harry’s grin was wicked. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do, but I won’t decide for sure until after I have a poke around in her head. Anyway, that’s enough catching up for one evening. What say I go fling myself on the bed and let you have your wicked way with me?”

Voldemort was more than happy to acquiesce.

* * *

Associated Snapshot: [The Pill Not Taken](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205219)


	12. Dolores Umbridge

They had just sat back after several hours of rooting about in Umbridge’s head when a soft voice was heard to say, “Master?”

Harry did not respond immediately; he stretched first and snapped the tendons in his neck before saying, “Yes, Moony, what is it?”

“Why is she here?” Lupin was sitting just inside the bars looking at them curiously.

“She’s going to be tortured and killed, pet. She’s a very nasty woman who despises part-humans like us and would be happier if we were all dead, though that’s not why she’s going to die. Umbridge spent quite a lot of time delighting in my suffering—suffering she induced—not to mention try to use an Unforgivable on me and try to get me Kissed. So, I thought I’d make an exception to my little set of guidelines about who is fair game and who isn’t. She might not have been in on the plan to train me, but she’s definitely signed her own death warrant now that I am willing and able to end lives.”

Lupin glanced off to the side for a few moments. “The full moon is soon. I can sense it.”

Harry arched a brow in mild surprise. “Is that some sort of suggestion, pet?”

“I—” Lupin looked away again. “You won’t—?”

Harry suddenly shook his head. “No, Moony, I’m not going to let your uncontrolled wolf do my job for me. For one thing, you will be getting Wolfsbane, so you’ll retain your mind, and I would never ask you to do something like that. You’re my pet, not my attack dog.”

Lupin looked at him fully, flicking his gaze toward Voldemort briefly, then said, “I . . . could still help.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Voldemort before replying, “Go on. What do you mean?”

“It would scare her to be awake when I transformed?”

Voldemort nearly grinned at the evidence that Harry’s manipulations of the man’s mind was showing so openly. Lupin was actively trying to make himself useful in some way, and make Harry happy.

Harry did smile, almost fondly. “That’s a very interesting idea, pet. I might actually be moved to give you a reward for such good behavior.”

Lupin shifted in place, the metal parts of his harness clinking softly, and he looked almost hopeful.

“Would you like to have an orgasm, Moony, as your reward?” Harry asked intently. Lupin’s mouth dropped open slightly, but he didn’t respond otherwise, prompting Harry to say, “You see, I’ve come to realize that there’s quite a market for certain types of illicit goodies in the wizarding world. And thinking of you, and thinking ahead to the day when you actually earned a reward, I decided to purchase a little something for that purpose. But, I’m not going to trot that out unless you tell me that is something you’d like for your reward—an orgasm.”

Then he added a caveat. “But, you should probably know that I’d want to make certain you enjoyed your reward, so I would be watching. And, of course, to make sure you cleaned up after yourself if necessary. So, you just think about that for a while and we’ll come back to it, all right?” Harry looked away as if in dismissal and said to Voldemort, “I’m hungry, Tom.”

Voldemort decided to play along to a certain extent and rose, pulling Harry into his arms and claiming his mate’s mouth in a prolonged kiss. Very discreet peeking revealed that Lupin was becoming visibly aroused by the display, so he continued to battle with Harry’s tongue and let his hands roam around possessively for several more minutes. When he did pull away it was to then stroke his fingers down the side of Harry’s face and say, “I suggest we move this to someplace more comfortable.”

Harry winked at him, then licked his lips as he turned, and started for the staircase. In point of fact, his mate wasn’t hungry, which didn’t surprise him in the least, though he had every intention of—and did—ravishing Harry’s gorgeous body and making him nearly beg for release.

It was when they were resting in the aftermath, sleepy but not sleeping, that he decided to broach something that had been on his mind for a while. Voldemort did not know how Harry would react to it, though he hoped his mate would understand the reasons intuitively. “Harry?” he murmured.

Harry grunted into his neck; he supposed that answered the question of whether or not his mate had slid off into dreamland without him.

“Harry, I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to offer you something.”

Harry shifted, slowly pulling away and sliding his head back along Voldemort’s upper arm so that he could see properly. “Offer?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking a lot about things, and us, and how we’ve. . . . So I wanted to offer to release you from that vow.”

His mate’s reaction was to close his eyes for some few minutes, almost making Voldemort wonder if he had decided to ignore him and fall asleep, and then Harry blinked them open and questioned solemnly, “But we’d still take care of each other, right?”

“Of course, Harry. I told you I would fight to keep you, and I’ve told you it causes me pain to even think of you not being with me.”

Harry sort of nodded and replied, “You’re making a symbolic gesture. I already chose to bond with you for life, and you know I could leave you at any time just by killing myself or deliberately shattering my own mind. I appreciate the offer, Tom, but I don’t need it. I would still be loyal to you. It’s still the same choice in my eyes.”

“But would you allow it?”

“If it would make you happy, yes. But at least right now, if something bad were to happen, no one could force me to be disloyal to you. They wouldn’t be able to force me to kill you, assuming I didn’t starve to death in the meantime.”

Voldemort considered that, then nodded. “I concede the point. But we can revisit this later?”

“Yes, we can.”

* * *

Dolores Umbridge awoke to find herself in rather peculiar circumstances. To all appearances she was in a classroom, one that happened to feature a few extras, the most alarming of which was a rather large cage off to one side containing a naked man crouched on the floor. However, there were only two desks present, one obviously meant for an instructor, and the student desk Dolores herself was seated before.

And perhaps it wasn’t entirely normal for one to be sitting naked in a classroom (unless you had those sorts of fantasies, though Voldemort never had, having generally preferred up until then to reserve his creativity for torture, plotting, scheming, along with any number of other nefarious activities dark lords were known to do, and in any case, a naked Umbridge was putting him off that sort of thing quite handily).

Harry appeared from a door at the back and came in, closing it behind him, then swept over to the large desk and sat down in the accompanying cushioned chair. He looked every inch the professor (if you didn’t count his trademark messy hair), and his demeanor was quite solemn and scholarly. It went almost without saying that Umbridge started in on him the second he was seated.

“Potter,” she said in a voice that could not be described as pleasant, “I wasn’t aware you were so fond of me. Why, I’m quite flattered that I’d be a star in one of your sexual fantasies. I suppose I made quite the impression on you a few years back.”

Harry actually blinked a few times in surprise. Then he chuckled and said, “You’ve got balls, darling.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, her tone changing to something like demanding, “so I’m sure you’ll be very happy to come over here and release me. Minister Fudge might even change his tune when it comes to you if he knew you had helped me.”

Harry affected to look interested and said, “Do you really think so?”

“Of course. He relies heavily on my counsel.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I have other things in mind for you, darling, and the minister’s opinion has never mattered all that much to me, just like yours never has.”

“What!?” she screeched. “You will release me this instant, you insolent little boy! Why, when the minister hears of this—”

Harry silenced her with a wave of his wand. “Look, darling, I will let you get this out of your system if that’s what you want, but then we’ll move along to the real fun.” He waved his wand again, then sat back to do things like idly inspect his fingernails and launch pencils at the ceiling while she went off on a tirade to match or exceed one from Mrs Black’s portrait.

She screeched and yelled, she questioned his sanity and intelligence, and she insulted his looks and parentage, all while tossing in random threats about retaliation from the minister and the Ministry in general. And then a moan of pain intruded, causing her to stop mid-screech and whip her head around toward the sound, then gape, which made her almost unbearably unattractive.

Harry gave her an appraising look at that point while she was fixated on watching Moony transform from human to wolf. When Moony eventually staggered to his feet Harry inquired, “Were you done, then?”

Apparently she was too busy staring in fascinated horror and loathing at a Moony who was shaking himself and testing out the stability of his legs. “Right,” Harry said and got to his feet. It took only a few steps for him to be standing at the cage door, which he promptly unlocked and opened. “All right, Moony, out you come.”

Umbridge shrieked and tried to cower back, causing Moony to growl at the assault on his sensitive ears as he padded into the room proper. “Yes, I know, pet, she’s got an awful voice. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of that soon enough. Now, you just wander around as you like, but no leaving the classroom, all right?”

Moony whuffed an agreement and trotted over toward Umbridge as Harry took a seat on the edge of his desk. It was a little known fact (unless one bothered to do the research) that most part-humans, such as veela, incubi, and centaurs, were totally immune to the effects of a werewolf bite, which might explain Harry’s blithely casual attitude given the possibility that Moony might decide to stage a revolt.

Voldemort, of course, had his wand poised in case he needed to subdue the creature, and he wasn’t entirely human himself, so the only person truly in danger was Umbridge herself. The wolf circled her several times, growling softly, seeming to almost enjoy how she started trembling violently in fear, then barked and wagged his tail when she actually pissed herself.

Harry instantly said, “Come away from that, Moony. That stuff might be highly poisonous and possibly qualify as a class C non-tradable substance.”

Umbridge finally found her tongue as the wolf trotted over to Harry obediently and plopped down on his haunches to stare at her. “Th-that’s a we-werewo-wolf,” she stuttered, still trying to somehow miraculously get farther away from them.

“Oh my stars and whiskers, you got one right! Moony _is_ a werewolf. That’s five points to—actually, I have no idea what house you were in, so we’ll just say five points to Hags, okay?”

That got her attention. “How dare you!?” she demanded to know.

Harry tilted his head to the side and glanced down at Moony. “I wonder at times if she’s actually human. She doesn’t look like one to me, pet. Why, even Hagrid looks more human than she does, don’t you think?”

Moony whuffed agreeably and wagged his tail again. Harry then said, “Now, I know how much you’d like to bite her, Moony, but I don’t think that would be such a good idea. You probably wouldn’t be able to get the taste out of your mouth for weeks, to start.”

“Now look, you stupid little—” Umbridge shrieked again when Moony snarled at her.

“She’s not all that bright, is she?” Harry said to his pet. “Why, if you got offended enough, you might do something naughty like tear her flesh off with those lovely claws of yours. Of course, I might have to swat you on the nose with a rolled-up Daily Prophet for doing it, but still. . . .”

Umbridge went white and gulped, which did nothing whatsoever for her complexion.

“Well, let’s move along to the fun bits,” Harry said as he petted Moony’s head. “You, my dear Madam Umbridge, are an affront to humankind, and even more importantly, to me. After all, you tried a number of nasty little tricks, didn’t you. So, I thought I’d whip up this nice little fantasy setting so that you and I could participate in a little role playing game. You’re going to be the erring student while I play the professor.

“Now, you had a lot of fun when you were the one with power, darling, so I’m going to pay you back in kind. I mean really, all the best torturers know quite intimately what it’s like to suffer, so it’s in your best interests to play along if you ever expect to get better at what you do. Though, it’s not like you have a choice or anything. So, we’re going to start with one of the things you despise most in this world, that being part-humans like Moony here.

“We’re going to see how you react to being one yourself.” Harry shook a wand into his hand and twirled it around lazily. “To that end, I’m going to make you a lot more into what you already resemble, which is to say a rather large, ungainly amphibian. I can’t quite decide between a frog or a toad, really.” He flipped the wand into his hand properly and aimed, then cast.

Voldemort watched as her body slowly transformed, amid much vocalization of fear and pain, then stopped before it was complete, leaving her in a halfway sort of state. He could see she would retain the ability to speak, but he got the distinct impression she would no longer be able to manage that sickly sweet voice she so favored using.

And then she croaked, causing Harry to start giggling madly, and her to flush an odd greenish colour. “Oh, that’s priceless,” Harry gasped out. “That’s made my whole year.”

She made a few more odd noises before finally managing to croak out the demand, “Change me back!”

Harry wiped his eyes and replied, “You’ll be like that until you die, darling. It really improves your looks. Now, let’s move along to something you took exceptional delight in to make me suffer. You never liked it when I spoke truth, did you. You tried to shut me up because your precious minister didn’t want to believe that Voldemort was back in all his glory. And you absolutely adored that little blood quill of yours, despite the fact that they’re illegal. I guess the laws don’t apply to people like you?

“Well! As it so happens, the laws don’t apply to me, either.” Harry slipped off the desk and went around to the other side, then pulled open a drawer and retrieved a long, thin black quill. “This one is a teensy bit different from what you used on me, though. Rather than scribing lines into the back of your hand, it’s going to scribe all over your body, so by the time you run out of usable flesh you’ll be a walking signboard.

“I suppose I should point out that your face will be spared. There’s no sense in any of this if you can’t see what you’re doing for the blood streaming down your face or the fact that your eyes have been scratched over. The other difference is that you won’t be receiving the kindness of healing.” He approached her and carefully positioned her fingers around the quill for use, then dropped a sheet of parchment on her desk.

“I’m going to release that arm, darling, but I suggest you don’t get any bright ideas like dropping the quill so you can attempt to free yourself. You see, you also tried to use the cruciatus curse on me, so you can definitely expect some of that if you decide to misbehave. Now, as for what you’re going to write, that’s simple: _Voldemort lives_. I want to make absolutely certain you’ve got that part through your thick, obstinate skull.”

Harry stepped back and readied his wand, but before he cast to release her arm he said, “Moony, pet, feel free to wander around and stretch your legs.”

Umbridge did not immediately move. She seemed to be more concerned about the fact that a werewolf had just trotted out of her line of vision rather than what Harry might do to her. She got over that dilemma very quickly when Harry hit her with a stinging hex to catch her attention.

“You should be writing, Madam Umbridge. After all, your name loosely translates to pain, so this should be a piece of cake for you. Lines, darling, now.”

She really did not want to, that much was obvious, but the double threat of Moony and Harry’s wavering wand seemed to convince her, so she slowly scratched out her first line on the parchment, biting her lip against the pain it caused her. However, she didn’t manage more than five lines before she tried to revolt, at which point Harry shook his head sadly and nailed her with crucio for ten seconds.

“You’re not done yet, darling. Please continue. Each time you force me to discipline you I’ll increment the time by five seconds.” Harry swished his wand around meaningfully for extra emphasis, and she started another line. That went on for quite some time, with Harry occasionally having to curse her to provide motivation, until she was more or less covered in bloody words and was having a hard time not expressing in some fashion the degree of pain she felt.

“Well!” Harry said cheerfully. “That’s about enough of that, though I do wonder how it felt when the words got around to where you’re sitting in your own urine. Perhaps someday you’ll tell me.” Harry cast a quick spell to bind her arm in place again, then snatched the quill away and flung it on his desk.

“How are we feeling, darling? I bet you feel wonderful having managed to write so many lines in just one sitting. You know, the heady glow of accomplishment? If I had the time I’d have you run that through a few more rounds, just to make certain those words would really sink in. Still, I think you’ve got the point for the moment. Actually, if I had the inclination I’d teach you to enjoy pain, even beg for it. I’m pretty damn certain I could, too.

“That would make for an interesting day at the Ministry, hm? You squatting there, feeling really froggy, and desperately hoping that someone would do you the favor of smacking you around. . . . I bet the Daily Prophet would love that. Actually, I wonder how they’d like it if I let them in on a few secrets, darling, such as how you have a certain fondness for prepubescent boys.”

She croaked an objection, which Harry laughed off. “Or, along those same lines, the fact that you like to pick up underage male prostitutes from muggle London, using the imperius curse so that they’ll actually deign to touch you. And hey, the younger they look, the happier you are. Maybe I should go to London and track down that one boy you’re so fond of, Dolores darling, and see if he would like to give an interview for a bit of coin.

“You know, it’s really mind boggling how many of you at the Ministry have such kinky sex lives. Did you know that Fudge likes to fuck his assistant for lunch? That Weasley boy? And he likes to have Percy suck his cock during meetings so he has something to concentrate on that he actually understands.”

Umbridge moaned for reasons other than just physical pain.

“I’ll have to think about that a bit before I decide what to do. For now, let’s get back to you. I did spend quite a bit of time, darling, doing research to see if it was possible to magically graft the upper half of your body onto that of a horse. I know how much you admire centaurs, after all, and thought you’d be super happy if I could manage it for you. I can look into it some more, though, if you’d like.”

She shook her head violently and croaked out, “No!”

“You’re certain? Really, I should think it would be quite a breakthrough if I succeeded. No? Well, all right.” Harry reached down to scratch behind Moony’s ears given that the wolf had decided to sit next to him, then turned and said, “Tom, I was wondering if you knew precisely how much veritaserum it takes to cause permanent brain damage in a subject? She tried to use a whole vial on me once, you know.”

Voldemort got up and approached his mate, standing to the other side from Moony, and had a sip of wine before saying, “For someone like her? It would probably take several vials. I don’t recommend it, though. You know very well that half the fun and satisfaction in torturing someone is lost when the victim cannot understand or appreciate what’s happening to them.”

Harry tapped a finger to his lips, then nodded. “That is a good point. Oh heck, she’s done pulled a Nymphy. Really, Tom, one look at you lately and people start dropping like flies. Must be that reputation.” Then he paused and squinted closely at Voldemort. “Or maybe it’s that reputation plus you being . . . happy? I suppose people might find that really frightening.

“Anyway, at some point I’m going to have to build up my own reputation on the outside. I can’t let you have all the glory.” Harry made a pouty face at him, then swiftly revived Umbridge. Voldemort followed up with a spell to make sure she could not lose consciousness again. She would have wet herself a second time if she’d been able.

“Okay, so brain damage is out. You’re right, it won’t be any fun at all if she just sits there drooling like an imbecile, though that might make for—” Harry switched gears and skipped around the desk to open another drawer, pulling out a camera a second later with a noise of triumph. “Ha! I thought I had one. This will come in very handy in case I wish to accidentally-on-purpose lose track of some photographs while standing next to someone who reports for the Daily Prophet.”

He swept back around the desk and began snapping photographs dramatically, swooping around to get her from every side, then stopped suddenly and swore. “Blast. I nearly forgot! Frogs don’t have hair, do they?” Harry set the camera on his desk and slid a knife out of his clothing, then transfigured it into a straight razor. That was charmed to fly over to her head and begin shaving off her iron-coloured hair.

Voldemort noted that his mate’s control seemed a bit shaky, resulting in a number of cuts that bled quite freely in the manner that head wounds did. She protested vociferously, which probably contributed.

Harry recalled the razor, though he refused to touch it, and grimaced. “There’s no way I’m sending my knife to take care of that last bit. I might never get it clean again.” That went onto the desk before Harry shot another spell, this time to directly depilate her pubic area. “And that reminds me of something. Were you aware, Dolores darling, that some species of frogs are known to spontaneously change gender? It happens when there aren’t enough males. And, as anyone with half a brain ought to know, there are more females in the world than males.

“You’ve had quite a lot of fun as a girl, so let’s see how you do as a boy, or at least, a hermaphrodite.” Harry moved his wand in a complicated pattern, then held it on her as she started croaking repeatedly in pain and trying to wriggle free of her bindings. A penis was slowly starting to form between her grossly fat thighs, probably an engorgement of sorts of her clitoris.

Voldemort was amused to note that not only was it erect, but that it strongly resembled the description Skeeter had provided of Fudge’s own. Hero worship at its finest. He was also quite impressed that Umbridge had not once resorted to tears through any of her treatment.

Harry ended the spell with a flourish and holstered his wand, then snatched up his camera and began taking more pictures, saying absently, “I really ought to have taken pictures of all my victims, Tom. I could have made a nice scrapbook, don’t you think?”

The camera finally ran out of film, so it was set aside. “All right,” Harry said briskly. “We’re just about done here, and really, there’s only one thing left I had planned. Given that, I am going to let you in on a little secret, darling. When I am done with you, I plan to drop you in an extremely public place looking just as you are now. Hundreds of wizards and witches are going to see exactly what’s become of you. It’s going to be utterly humiliating for you, and I sincerely doubt you’ll ever be able to live it down.”

And she did break at that, tears finally coming to her eyes and sliding down her puffy cheeks.

“You’ll take up the entire front page of the Daily Prophet, and people the world over will remember your name, darling, and tell stories about the scary hermaphrodite frog-human to scare their children into behaving for years to come. But now, for the grand finale of the evening. . . .”

Voldemort took that as his cue and raised one hand to signal. Shadows detached themselves from one of the walls, a sense of cold and despair suddenly breaking free and sweeping over the room. Moony whined and backed up quickly, moving to behind the desk for scant cover. The dementor glided forward, its horrifying effects muted for everyone but the intended victim on Voldemort’s orders, then turned to face Umbridge. She was nearly hysterical with fear, struggling so much that the straps holding her down were cutting into her skin and drawing blood.

“It is time for your final kiss goodnight, Madam Umbridge,” Voldemort said in a sepulchral tone, then signaled again, and watched as the dementor glided up close to her and bent, reaching out to almost tenderly cup her face in its bony hands, then administer the Kiss. The second it was done Voldemort ordered it away, fearing slightly even with the restrictions that it might be causing his mate a damaging amount of distress.

It glided back to its starting position and melted into shadow, and it was like it had never been there. Voldemort immediately turned to his mate. “Harry?”

Harry did look a bit pale, but otherwise appeared to be all right. “It’s fine,” he insisted. “It was my idea, after all, but I really hope you’re prepared to coddle me tonight because I am a bit shaky.”

“Whatever you need, Harry,” he said, then remembered the wolf was lurking nearby when a furry snout poked out around the corner of the desk.

A rippling shudder passed through Harry’s entire body before he inquired, “Tom, does a Kissed person actually retain their memories? I mean, if I follow through on that threat, do we need to at least obliviate this evening’s activities?” He absently reached down to scratch behind Moony’s ears again when the wolf settled in next to his leg.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Voldemort said honestly. “But just to be safe, I’ll obliviate this last bit from her memory. If it’s no longer there the spell will just fail.”

“So there’s no risk to you involved, right?” Harry asked with a slight edge.

“There’s no risk, Harry,” Voldemort assured him. “And I am no Lockhart.”

Harry laughed and nodded. “All right. Please try?”

Voldemort did so, and felt nothing untoward, so he made the assumption that loss of soul did not affect other aspects of the body such as the brain’s ability to store information. After all, those same bodies continued to autonomously breathe, and blink, and sleep, even if they never made attempts to otherwise survive. If anyone were to check her memories, the only evidence they would gather was from when she was kidnapped, and Voldemort had not seen fit to hide his appearance, so Harry could not easily be blamed for her going missing.

Harry moved to circle her desk and chair, then came to a stop a short distance away, shaking his head. “She is so unbelievably ugly. I really think I must. Either the Ministry atrium again or even Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. But not until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Voldemort nodded and spelled her into stasis, then set about dismantling the illusionary room they were occupying. Very quickly the dungeon was back to its normal self.

At that point Harry looked ever at Moony and said, “You know, you’ve been so helpful to me today, and made me so happy, I think I’ll let you have that toy I mentioned for an entire week. Would you like that, pet?”

Moony trotted up and shoved his nose into Harry’s crotch, licking the leather with that long, wet tongue as his tail wagged back and forth happily; Harry’s knees nearly buckled. His mate just stood there for a short time, his face a study in determination and concentration (not to mention lustful pleasure), and then he staggered back a few steps. “Sit, Moony,” he said almost sharply.

Moony did so immediately, but whined, his demeanor conveying confusion over what he had done wrong.

“Moony, you will not do that to me again, do you understand?”

The wolf lowered his head submissively and whuffed softly.

“You know what I am, pet. I cannot allow you to show your appreciation that way when it comes to me. I’m not going to punish you this time, but I will if it happens again. Understand?”

Moony whuffed again, raising his head cautiously.

“You seem to like the idea of that toy for a week, so I will provide it as your reward. Now, it’s getting on, so back in your cell, pet. I will return once the moon has set and see to things.” Harry followed the wolf and locked him in, then walked to Voldemort stopped, looking a bit done in.

Voldemort responded by gently leading him off upstairs, pausing to slip a hooded cloak onto his mate as he did not look like Lord Thanatos, then led him home and up into the sitting room.

The first thing Harry did was shred his clothing and launch himself at Voldemort, saying breathily, “Oh god, that tongue. It’s fucking huge, Tom. I almost couldn’t resist. Please, please make love to me. Please show me that you still want me.”

Voldemort found himself a bit puzzled over his mate’s reaction even as he pulled him into a searing kiss, then decided that Harry was frightened of what might happen if someone managed to use his weakness against him, that Voldemort might withdraw emotionally in retaliation, or even allow him to starve if he was angry enough at a perceived betrayal.

Whether that was an incubus thing or a Harry thing he did not bother to ponder just then. He decided that words would be completely useless, so he swept his hands up his mate’s back and teased at his scales; Harry melted against him and writhed sensuously, whispering, “Please.”

So Voldemort did, leading his mate into the bedroom and pushing him onto their bed, then stripping off his clothing quickly before joining Harry and resuming his pleasurable assault.

* * *

The next morning Harry was acting like his normal self, which made Voldemort happy. His mate made a command decision once they were up and dragged him off to the kitchen, where he was treated to a lovely breakfast of ham, scrambled eggs, and toast, not to mention a small dish of chilled melon. And he wasn’t allowed to talk until he finished up as Harry didn’t want to downplay the importance of a good meal by insisting Voldemort divide his attention.

It was afterward that Harry collected the dishes and set them to wash, then leaned back against the counter and asked, “So, what do you think? The atrium again? Diagon Alley?”

Voldemort pondered that, then said, “Diagon Alley is more or less a safe zone, Harry, but this would not constitute an actual threat to public safety. And, given that we have already used Hogwarts and the Ministry, I suppose we could put the fear of God into a whole new set of people.” Then he smiled broadly.

“If you like, you can be waiting there as usual, but this time as a hooded Ron Weasley. During peak hours I activate the portkey, you wait until people start screaming, then cast the Dark Mark into the sky, accidentally letting your hood fall back to expose your face, and flee.”

Harry’s eyes went quite wide. Then he said, “I suppose I should make sure Skeeter feels a pressing urge to do a story today about the common man’s thoughts on this war, huh?”

“I’m sure she could come up with a good excuse without too much trouble. She just needs to be there well before the show begins, my sweet.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to check in with my boys to make sure they’re handling the reviews all right without me, and pop off to Gringotts to drop another stack of gold into the vault. Would you like me to pick some coordinates for us while I’m there?”

“Yes, thank you. I will see if Mrs Black is about to warn her of the upcoming furor she might expect at headquarters. I’ll probably be in my office by the time you return.”

Harry pushed away from the counter with a nod, came over to give him a kiss, then slinked off.

Several hours later Voldemort was watching with Harry’s eyes as Rita Skeeter randomly accosted passersby and began asking them probing questions, shifting position frequently to block their escape until they would finally consent to answer.

A lot of people had just begun streaming out of various eateries when Voldemort made his move, transporting a drooling Umbridge right into the center of the street. She was bleeding sluggishly from her myriad wounds and her grotesque mockery of a penis was happily in view due to her landing on her back. Naturally, the screaming started, and Skeeter did a passable job of reacting surprised before she raced off toward the disturbance, her photographer close on her heels.

At that point Harry stepped into an open spot (and those were appearing rapidly as people clustered around Umbridge) and whirled dramatically, causing his cloak to flare out like that of a pretentious twit in a bad novel, then thrust a wand toward the sky and yelled, “Morsmordre!”

And of course, his hood had unfortunately fallen back during his theatrics, revealing a rather maniacal grin which surely looked distinctly out of place on a Weasley. Half the people on the street were torn between the horror of Umbridge and looking at Harry. Skeeter, however, made sure to nudge her photographer to snap a shot.

Harry pointed and yelled out, “Behold one betrayer! The Dark Lord will rule you all like the sheep you are!” And then he ran, disappearing down into Knockturn Alley, whereupon he promptly found a dark corner and disapparated.

The photographs that ran in the Daily Prophet later on clearly displayed a Dark Mark on Umbridge’s arm.


	13. Neville Longbottom

Voldemort was hard at work trying to ignore the paperwork that kept appearing on his desk when a knock sounded at his office door unexpectedly. He did not have anyone on his schedule, but still barked out, “Enter!” He was quite surprised when Millicent Bulstrode stepped in and prostrated herself after closing the door.

He cast his thoughts back, almost instantly recalling that she was on assignment at St Mungo’s as an apprentice healer, and scheduled once her training was complete to join the medical team at the compound. “Rise and take a seat,” he said, and once she had ordered, “Report.”

“My lord, I’ve done something you might not be happy about, but what I saw may be of interest to you. I was working when I noticed the Longbottom heir at the hospital, presumably to visit his parents, and decided to look up their records. I admit, it was my disgust with him that made me look, hoping I could find something to torment him with, even anonymously. I was . . . having a bad day.

“His records showed that there are a number of suspicious substances in his system, though the healer noted that he appears to be in fine health. Notations indicated that the healer wanted to study him more closely because of unknowns, but the grandmother refused, as did Longbottom. I know that they’re close to Dumbledore, so. . . .” She trailed off, obviously incapable of finding the right words, and very probably scared that she was about to be hexed senseless for bothering him with such a silly thing.

Voldemort arched a brow in consideration. “And did the file reveal why the healer was taking such an initial interest in Longbottom?”

“Yes, my lord. He can be a rather clumsy man and had tripped during his visit, crashing head first into a wall. Um, actually, that’s _why_ I looked, because in the course of doing that, he managed to knock me clean off my feet. Anyway, a nearby healer on duty rushed to check him over and noticed it then. Being curious I looked a bit further and realized that it was the first time Longbottom had seen a healer at St Mungo’s in several years. I had just thought that maybe Dumbledore was up to something and I should report this so you could determine if it was important.”

Voldemort steepled his long fingers together, then nodded. “Very well. If you should happen to notice anything odd pertaining to known Light supporters, investigate so long as you remain discreet and take due caution to remain undiscovered in your snooping. That is _not_ an order to drop everything and turn spy at the least provocation, Bulstrode. You are there primarily to complete your apprenticeship. You may go.”

She rose and bowed, then quietly slipped out, so Voldemort took a moment to check to see where Harry was. His mate was presently holding forth with his training staff in the overhead, so he left him alone, intending to bring it up later on.

That evening, after another delicious dinner Harry decided to cook for him, he broached the subject once they were back in their sitting room, and started by saying, “Harry, Bulstrode came to see me today unexpectedly, and brought with her some rather interesting news about our young Mr Longbottom.”

Harry’s reaction was to eye him carefully, then nod to continue.

Voldemort briefly explained the report, then said, “It occurs to me that we might be able to quietly kidnap the young man and poke around, then obliviate and release him should we find that he is not someone you wish to add to your list. If he is, though, we could still do that, and then plan out a public kidnapping in order to sink Ron Weasley’s reputation that much further and add to his mother’s torment.”

Harry turned quite thoughtful at that. “Do you have anyone who’s really, really good at stalking people? Shadowing them?”

“I have a whole team, Harry, why?”

“All right. Send a bunch of them out to shadow Order types, though the important one will be on Neville. Get to know their routines and such. If Nev has the odd habit of spending every, say, Tuesday afternoon at a park feeding the ducks, we could nab him fairly easily. It’d also be very easy to fix his memory so that he thinks his day went just like normal, and no one would even notice he’d gone missing for a few hours.”

Voldemort nodded. “Consider it done. Once we have a report back giving us a good opportunity, we’ll move.” He was really quite pleased that Harry was willing to go even that far given how uncomfortable the potential situation surrounding the other prophecy child made him.

Then Harry sighed and said, “I’ve kind of reconsidered what I plan to do to Moony. Slightly, I mean.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, he was so damn helpful with Umbridge and I’ve barely even begun to screw his head up. Also, I stumbled over a nifty little ritual that will make his wolf see me as his pack leader, except in this case he won’t ever be getting the impression that his leader is or could become infirm, so he won’t be shooting for a game of King of the Mountain. In theory, he could still choose at the end of his term to leave me, but I really don’t think he would. I think he’s going to bow down to me until the day he dies after I perform that.”

“And what of your ideas on him being the compound fuck toy?”

Harry shrugged. “That may still happen. I have been winding him up quite a lot and he can’t help but feel randy all the time. Not quite the same as me _needing_ sex to survive, but close enough for government in my eyes. So, once I get him used to the idea of using his little reward toy with an audience, I’ll kick things up a notch a bit down the road. Eventually, he probably won’t think twice about sticking his ass in the air for anyone who wants to play with him, or make use of that tongue of his. Besides, I have a very special reward in mind for him later.”

Voldemort arched a brow, but Harry shook his head. “Speaking of which, would you like to go in for some foreplay and sit with me while he takes his toy on a maiden voyage? I figure I’ll be feeling fairly randy myself once he’s done.”

* * *

Mrs Black had some news to report, which was welcome. Molly Weasley was frequently in hysterics over her precious baby boy having gone dark on them, and was actually wailing about where she had gone wrong. And, given that Order members still had a habit of forcing the curtains shut on Mrs Black to quiet her for an hour or so, she was able to hear plenty of things they didn’t bother to censor once she couldn’t be seen. Apparently, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a popular concept.

The trap in the front hall was for either Ron or Harry, leading them to believe that Dumbledore had finally wised up. It was Harry’s opinion that if Dumbledore had really been thinking he would have trapped the hall five seconds after Harry went missing, not weeks later, simply on the off chance his errant weapon headed for a familiar place.

Of course, he had probably discovered that his access to Harry’s funds had been cut off as well, and that made Harry think he ought to plan another trip so he could query his account manager. What they had no way of knowing was whether or not Dumbledore felt confident that he could bring Harry easily back under control if he was caught. Harry had shuddered over the idea of the old man having already found a new set of trainers.

That had occasioned a question on if there had been any new faces appearing within the house, and Mrs Black had declared there were none she had noticed. And, supposedly, Nigellus had confirmed the trap targets, but they were inclined to simply take it as given rather than test his loyalty directly. Mrs Black was instructed as before, and to merely listen to the man, not volunteer any information of her own.

Neville was, in fact, captured from a park, but not while he was feeding ducks. He had gone on his weekly trip to gather up water plants and was brought back to the dungeon wearing a pair of hip waders. They tiptoed through his tulips, as Harry had put it, then altered his memories a bit to portray a mostly unsuccessful trip. They returned him to the park’s pond, planting him on the muddy edge as though he had tripped and fallen back, momentarily knocking himself senseless, and complete with minor head wound.

A bit later Harry flopped into his chair and frowned. “I confess, I have no idea what to do.”

Voldemort looked up, feeling rather pensive. “I suppose I can understand his position to some degree, though it shows a decided lack of anything resembling courage, Harry. A stronger person would have run by now to seek help, despite knowing just how painful that help would be. He may have made strides toward becoming a better, more skilled wizard, but that has not done a whole lot for his basic character.”

Harry sighed heavily. “What would happen if he were in a coma during that time?”

“So long as he was properly cared for otherwise, he would come through it with little issue, but he will always be susceptible.”

Harry pushed up out of his chair to pace. “You know, I can’t quite bring myself to be surprised. Obviously, they must have figured Neville would completely fall apart if they tried to subject him to what they did me—but drugs? They bloody fucking well got him addicted to muggle drugs in order to keep him in line? Yes, sure, it’s got to be grand to watch him beg and plead and promise to do anything they want if they’ll just give him another fix. I’m just not sure what to do. I mean, I suppose I could be lurking next trip he makes, and approach him for a little chat. I could offer to help him.”

“And what of Miss Weasley?” Voldemort asked.

“Her too, I guess. The only thing stopping him from declaring his love is his addiction and the fear that his grandmother won’t approve. If he agreed to walk away from everything he could send her a note and ask her to meet him. If she refuses, I obliviate her and drop her off someplace safe. The same for him. Otherwise, we drop them both into comas until it’s safe for him to wake up, then I pack them off to Italy or wherever with enough gold to keep them comfortable for a few years and give them a chance to start a new life.”

* * *

During the week that followed Harry was a very busy person, often slipping away to build a curious addition to the back of Voldemort’s manor house. It did have a door leading into the original structure, but it was so heavily warded it was a wonder that entire wall didn’t collapse from the theoretical burden. Inside it looked exactly like you were standing in a miniature park, complete with dwarf trees, a sandy area screened by bushes, and a small pond.

In fact, you couldn’t tell you were inside until you approached one of the walls that did not abut the house, at which point they phased partially into view as a warning, though the perimeter was clearly delineated by a very short fence. The roof was invisible, of course, and did allow for precipitation, though only in the form of rain, and the chamber’s temperature was strictly controlled by magic. Voldemort would have to be a complete idiot not to realize what his mate was up to, at least in part.

There was not, as yet, a door leading to the outside world.

Once he was satisfied Harry asked Voldemort very nicely if he would double-check the work, and after that made a midnight trip to fetch his pet and bring him to his new home, using charms to keep any late night wanderers from noticing as he led a crawling Moony across the compound and into the house (Voldemort had thoughtfully adjusted the wards).

“This is where I live, Moony,” Harry said, tugging slightly on the leash when his pet tried to pause to look around. “Now come on. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” Lupin immediately came to heel so Harry continued on down the central corridor and to the back of the house, where he opened the new door and ushered his pet through, then entered as well, several crates following along behind him.

He didn’t release Moony from the leash until after the door had closed, then set about unpacking the crates. The cushion went into a fairly large dog house, one that was big enough to also contain the water supply and food dish, so that none of them would be soaked should it rain or snow. The reward golem was locked away in a small shed and the leash coiled up and hung on a hook on the outside of that same shed. And, of course, that nice penis was stuck to a wall inside the dog house in case his pet wanted to play.

“All right, Moony. This is your new home for the duration. Please be aware that there is currently only the one entrance and any attempt on your part to use that door will bring down automatic punishment given the fact that it’s warded against you from this side. As you have no doubt noticed you can see quite a lot of the compound from here and this is a true view, though no one can actually see into this area at present.

“There are several snakes in this park, so be sure to leave them alone. If you upset one, expect to be bitten. They already know to leave you be and won’t attack unless you purposely try to harm one. With me so far?”

“Yes,” Moony said softly.

“Later on, when I’m certain you’ll behave, I’ll set up a gate so that you can have visitors, plus a rotation of handlers to make sure nobody tries to harm you. At that point, the walls will become two-way during visiting hours, with the obvious exception of the house wall.”

Moony cringed only slightly at that, having apparently become adjusted to being watched as he romped about naked and played with his toy. Harry rather thought that the phantom feeling of exposure twenty four hours a day would further grind away the man’s inhibitions.

“Now, unless you have any questions about your new home, I’m going to bed.” All he got was a shake of the head, so Harry nodded and headed back out through the door, locking it behind him before he continued on up to the bedroom.

The next day he went to Neville’s park and waited until the young man arrived, then slowly walked out of the copse of trees he had been in and approached him. At first Neville didn’t really react, possibly believing that Harry was just another patron of the area, but as he drew closer Neville dropped the specimen bag he was holding and gaped.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said quietly. “I’m happy to see you again.”

Neville splashed back a step or two in fear.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not here to hurt you, Nev. I simply came to talk. I know what they did to you, and I’d like to offer my help if you’ll accept it.”

“B-but, all th-those p-people who’ve disappeared. . . .”

Harry shook his head. “None of whom have much of anything to do with you. You see, you haven’t been treated a whole lot better than I’ve been, and I’m willing to fix that. You were supposed to be the back up plan, but I’m sure you realize that. I also think you realize that you’d be more likely to pass out in terror if you ever came face to face with Lord Voldemort than try to attack him.”

Neville blushed hotly and dropped his gaze.

“I know what they did. I also know you aren’t willing to buck the status quo because you’re afraid of the pain it will mean and what they might do to you further. Well, I’m here to offer you a way out. I will give you a painless way to shake your addiction and then hand you enough money to tide you over for a few years along with a home to live in, somewhere far away from this country. And I am the last person in the world who’d criticize if you accepted and essentially ran like blazes from this war.”

Neville looked up in shock, though fear remained, and confusion. “Why? How can I trust you?”

“Did you agree with their plans for me, Nev? Did you endorse them? I know you didn’t, so you’re not my enemy. You’re the same Neville to me that I went to school with, a nice, quiet young man who’s really fond of Herbology. You’re the other prophecy child, the one who wasn’t marked or singled out obviously, the one who ended up being forced into a situation you had no business being in.

“Now, I won’t try to lie to you and say I’m not a merciless killer. I am. They made me kill hundreds of people over the course of my training and I can’t ever take that back. And yes, lately, I’ve been doing a teensy bit in the way of taking revenge. Frankly, it was a somewhat of a relief to make Snape feel a bit like he’d made me feel before I killed him. I finally had the chance to fight back, so I did. If you want I’ll just walk away and never bother you again.”

“H-how do you know these things?”

Harry heaved a sigh and folded himself down onto the grass. “I first became suspicious when Ginny was captured by Death Eaters and delivered up to Lord Voldemort. She has quite a thing for you, did you know?”

Neville blushed again and ducked his head briefly.

“I found out from her that she knew they tried to endow you with my healing ability. Now, I might not have cared so much except that she was very concerned about you, and I figured she wouldn’t be if there wasn’t most likely a damn good reason. I also found out via a roundabout way from Moody that you were at Order meetings, but were very quiet, very deferential, and so on. And then, just a week ago I kidnapped you.”

Neville gasped and splashed back another step.

“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. I let you go, obviously. I had a little look see into your memories to find out precisely what they’d done to you, and to confirm that you really weren’t my enemy. It was after that point I worked out what I was willing to do for you. So like I’ve said, if you want, I’ll help free you from your addiction. I’ll set you up in a new life in some other country.

“I will even include Ginny in that, because I know you’d probably balk if she stayed behind. I would also make sure neither of you could be located easily by people in the Order, or your gran. I will even, right now, if it makes you feel a little less freaked out, show you a few memories of mine concerning the times you and Ginny have been in my care, and the conversations concerning you that I’ve had with Voldemort. 

“And that’s one hell of a generous offer considering that those are, in some respects, really private memories of mine. Then again, since I rifled through yours without so much as a by your leave, I suppose that’s only fair.”

“Are . . . you a Death Eater, Harry?”

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching down to pluck a few blades of grass to fiddle with. “No. I’m Lord Voldemort’s equal, Neville. I owe my continuing sanity to him, actually. Without his help and support I’d be stark raving mad at this point, only good for being told who to kill. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I’d probably have gone on a mindless killing spree after I learned just how many people in the Order approved of the plans to train me like they did.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Neville said plaintively, his face a study in confused misery.

“I understand, believe me. And I swear on my magic that my intent is not to trick you, mislead you, or harm you in any way. I only want to help.”

Neville gulped slightly and finally splashed forward and onto the grass, taking a seat a short distance away. “Could I . . . see those memories you mentioned?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Harry said with a nod. “I’m going to reach into my robes and get a pensieve, okay? You can see for yourself that it’s empty before we start. Then I’m going to get my wand so I can pull out copies for you to look at.” And he did just that, drawing forth a pensieve and placing it on the grass between them so that Neville could check it, then he slowly pushed back his sleeve (not so incidentally showing his unmarked forearm) and released his wand.

“I’ll do this one at a time, okay? None of them are very long.” And then he pulled free a silvery strand from his temple, the memory of his conversation with Voldemort when he’d been informed of Ginny’s capture. “Oh, Neville? I am naked in some of these, so. . . .” Harry shrugged and dropped it into the pensieve.

When Neville returned he retrieved it and replaced it with the memory of the conversation after their perusal of Ginny’s memories. “I must say, I wasn’t exactly complimentary of your gran in this one.” That one was followed by the scene of Ginny waking and making her way to the Burrow, and then by the conversation they had had most recently, directly after returning Neville to the pond.

Neville’s face was red by the time he was done, prompting Harry to say quite seriously, “Yes, I know, my language has gone all to hell.” The resulting slight start of surprise told Harry that he had distracted Neville at least momentarily from other concerns. “So, that’s about it,” he said as he replaced the pensieve in his robes and holstered his wand.

“You can accept, in which case we’d want to get Ginny, or you can decline, in which case you forget this conversation ever happened.”

Neville looked really conflicted about something, which became clear when he said, “But what about my parents, Harry?”

“Neville, I know it hurts, but there’s still no known way to cure them. And do you honestly believe that if they could speak right now that they would want you to remain, with your addiction, and continue to let these people run your life for you? Lord, I don’t even want to think about what my parents would be saying if they had the opportunity. Mum alone would probably try to strangle Dumbledore with her bare hands and dad would stand there cheering her on, I bet. It’s up to you, though. It’s your life.”

“What would you do?”

“I already made that choice. The second I saw the opportunity I ran, straight to the one person I knew had the power to help me, Lord Voldemort. I was prevented from killing myself, but he could and I knew it. I couldn’t bear to live like that any longer, so death would have been welcome. So I asked him for either death or help, and he chose to help free me. And right now, I’d like to help you.”

As many as ten minutes passed before Neville spoke, and his voice was full of quiet resolve. “All right. I need to contact Ginny, though.”

Harry nodded, feeling a great deal of relief. “Is there anything back at your home that you absolutely cannot live without?”

Neville shook his head. “I have my wand, and I always carry a photograph of my parents with me.”

“Okay. Then let’s nip over to that field behind the Burrow. We can send an owl in with a note for Ginny, and once we have her, I’ll take you both to a safe place. She’ll probably be frightened out of her wits and try to hex me the second she gets the chance, but that’s all right. And if she refuses to go along with this, I promise all that will happen is she’ll lose those memories.”

“Let’s go.”

Now, it could not be said that things went quite as smoothly with Miss Ginevra Weasley, but in the end she decided it was in her overall best interests to go along with the plan. Thus it was (and after a memory share that had both Neville and Ginny losing the contents of their stomachs) that they were both placed into comas for the next few weeks.

* * *

In between days, Harry had taken to considering who his next victim (or victims) would be. Still, he spent quite a lot of time checking up on his boys, who had learned exactly what it was they were looking for during reviews, which meant Harry no longer had to be there constantly. He had eventually split them into two groups, with half to continue supervising reviews while the rest began proper training classes for the squads.

He also made daily visits to Moony, usually during meal periods. And, of course, to Neville and Ginny to make sure they were both all right and had what they needed while temporarily dead to the world. While he was considering, and to stir the pot insofar as Ron Weasley was concerned, Harry did head off to Hogsmeade and go on a bit of a burning spree.

A number of buildings were on fire by the time he cast the Dark Mark into the sky, causing him to idly wonder if there were such things as wizarding insurance companies, and if so, did they cover damage caused by minions of known dark lords? And on that thought he whirled around dramatically to face the crowd that was beginning to gather (still well out of range of their spells) and laughed maniacally before racing off, his hood falling back with the speed of his passage to reveal Weasley-red hair, then disapparated the moment he was out of sight.

And then Harry decided he was going to strike a huge blow, and cast fear into the hearts of many. Or perhaps it was simply that he couldn’t stand waiting any longer. He sent a note off to Skeeter informing her to be ready for an upcoming assignment, then hied off to the Ministry as Justus Bane right before the end of normal business hours. The registration fellow passed him on through when he flashed his credentials, so Harry made his way to Fudge’s office to have a little chat with Percy.

“The minister has already left,” Percy said pompously. “If you’d like to make an appointment I can try to fit you in sometime next week.”

Harry tilted his head to the side and said, “I came to talk to you, actually.” Percy looked quite startled by that, and then didn’t have much of an expression at all when Harry hit him with a paralyzation spell. “You and I are going to get to know one another much, much better,” he said, then produced a vial and opened it.

After forcing Percy’s jaw open he tipped the contents in and massaged the man’s throat, making it go down, then waited for it to take effect. During that time he made sure the outer door was secured and that no light could be seen from the other side. He also flipped through the minister’s schedule and was happy to note that there was nothing scheduled for lunch the next day.

When Percy was properly softened up Harry spent the next hour working him over, setting him up for the following day’s surprises. He knew from questioning that Percy had no one to go home to, or anyone to meet that evening, which was extremely convenient if he did say so himself. He then spent another twenty minutes drilling into Percy’s head exactly what he wanted done the next day, just prior to lunch, not to mention imparting a few other instructions for the remainder of the evening and following morning.

Then he ordered the young man to stand, drop his trousers and drawers, and bend over his desk. Harry pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, then produced two thin pieces of translucent material out of his pocket. They were connected to each other by a narrow arching bridge of that same material, making them essentially one item.

That was meticulously positioned on Percy’s ass cheeks, the bridge going up and over his tailbone area, to connect on either side to the larger sections. The edges were spelled to quite nearly melt into the flesh so that things appeared seamless, and another quick charm was used to slightly buff the surfaces—one that would not interfere with its actual purpose—so the entire thing was almost invisible unless you looked very closely.

Percy was ordered to fix his clothing and sit down again.

Before he left he commanded Percy to not consciously remember their little visit with each other, tested his key phrases a handful of times, then carefully arranged Percy over the desk to look as though he had fallen asleep. A final command sent his victim into a short nap, by which time he awoke Harry was long gone. All that time spent with Moony had really helped, not to mention that one Death Eater who had really pissed him off and had been induced to dance around in the back field for five minutes pretending to be a rooster.

The next day Harry and Voldemort were lounging in squashy armchairs down in the dungeon, situated so that they were facing a rather grandiose desk from the side, in a fake room that rather astonishingly resembled the minister’s office. Voldemort was, as per usual, sipping at a glass of wine, and Harry felt a split second of annoyance and envy that he could not share that particular habit. He really missed food at times, and he had never even had the chance to try wine. The closest he had ever managed to come to alcohol was cough syrup, and that was hardly a high standard to judge by.

So it was that Harry rolled his eyes and checked the time, then sat up a bit straighter in anticipation, hoping that nothing went wrong with his admittedly overblown plan to nab two more people on his list in such a way as to embarrass them. Voldemort had rolled his eyes when he realized what Harry was doing, but had not objected, so Harry secretly wondered if his lover found the idea amusing and simply wouldn’t admit it.

At approximately ten minutes past noon, two people appeared in the room, very disoriented, but miraculously in the same position they had begun in. That is to say, with Fudge’s short, fat cock buried to the hilt inside Percy’s ass and his pasty flesh plastered the to young man’s backside (that being what had activated the portkey, of course). Harry instantly hauled his camera up and got off five shots before they started to pull apart, then raised a wand in his other hand and stunned them.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here. I know a little lady who’ll just die when she gets this film,” Harry drawled. “It’s time for you two to take a little nap.”

A short time later ‘Justus Bane’ strolled into the Daily Prophet offices and made his way through the noisy area populated by the reporters, then casually placed a tiny canister on Rita Skeeter’s desk and flashed her a smirk. “My dear Rita,” he said, “I suggest you jump right on this. Why, I bet you can get a special evening edition out of it.”

Her eyes lit up like fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day as she leaned toward him and said in a whisper, “It’s a go?”

Harry nodded, then crouched down next to her desk and whispered, “Five photographs there, dear, and check the vault later. I might even find it in my heart to leave behind a bonus in a few days. Have fun.” Then he pushed up effortlessly and wandered out.

That evening the offices of the Daily Prophet sent out a special edition, complete with a slightly censored, but huge photograph of Minister Fudge caught _in flagrante delicto_ with his assistant. (Actually, the photographic Fudge was trying quite desperately to hide his bulk behind the beanpole that was Percy, and failing miserably.)

Rita had outdone herself, spinning a yarn (mostly truthful for once) about the long-standing relationship between the two men and the total misuse of government property (such as the desk), misappropriation of funds used for projects not approved (the trapdoor, the tunnel) or intended for the betterment of the Ministry (unless you counted Fudge’s sex life and the resulting lack of damage he often did by not paying attention long enough to make a decision), and had even called into question Percy’s salary and just exactly what was it he was being paid for.

She went on to press for the Ministry to produce documentation describing the young man’s actual job so that the thousands of men and women who helped support the ministry would know exactly how their money was being spent. After all, this was the United Kingdom, not Las Vegas or Holland.

She bemoaned the fate of the poor, unfortunate Mrs Fudge (who was quoted as saying that her husband was a fat pig who would shortly be turned into rashers by her solicitor and marriage customs be damned), and encouraged readers everywhere to strongly consider demanding that every single decree made by the minister over the past five years was reviewed by a council, and indeed, they should probably press for the man’s resignation as well.

Harry framed a copy and hung it in the front hall of the house. But . . . not until after he’d forced both Fudge and Percy to sign it.

He had a very definite idea in mind for Percy. After all, his guilt was by association and indirect manipulation, so he had not truly done anything to warrant death in Harry’s eyes. But, that did not mean he was going to get away. Percy did love to bow down to authority—rather, bend over for—so, Harry had a mind to give his pet werewolf a bit of company, except that in Percy’s case, he _would_ have his brains completely scrambled.

But, that was neither here nor there. Harry had a vault he needed to put gold in and a minister to interrogate. He also had a winning bet to cash in on. Fudge was left to his coma for the time being while Percy was dropped into a trance in what had been Moony’s cell, then left there for hours on end while a recording of Harry’s instructions played. It saved him quite a bit of time, really, and if Percy so willingly played the part of authority’s bitch, then Harry was very happy to make that a permanent reality.

* * *

Voldemort had held some miniscule hope that Harry’s grand plan to capture the minister and Percy would backfire, thus proving the point about overly complicated schemes, but it had not, and he was stuck the loser again. Had he won, Harry would be giving it up in the constructs cage with hundreds of golems looking on, so to speak.

However, that was not the case, which would explain why Voldemort was presently being tormented by his mate’s tongue and teeth, and very quickly, by a slick finger being pushed into his ass. He groaned at the invasion, but not because it was unpleasant. Harry might be a functional virgin in some ways, but he had obviously been paying attention all those times Voldemort had prepared him, needlessly or not.

A second finger was added while Harry was busy feasting on the flesh of his stomach, cruelly avoiding his cock, then a third, and even a fourth, each one causing him to involuntarily contract or arch and release groans and moans of pleasure. Perhaps it was possible that his own not quite human self had it easier, his reborn body actually a melding of sorts of human and snake, and that might account for the decided lack of discomfort he was experiencing.

In any case, Voldemort was starting to feel very much on edge when Harry decided to slowly withdraw his fingers and urge him to roll over and gain his hands and knees. A whisper of a charm was heard, then his mate was pressing the head of his cock against his anus, pushing forward with slow deliberation. Voldemort arched his neck and pushed back sharply, forcing Harry to sink himself to the hilt.

That produced a rather strangled moan and a spastic tightening of the grasp Harry had on his hips. Something told Voldemort that his mate was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sensation of being deep in the body of his . . . boyfriend, so he braced himself better and started to rock, and very quickly Harry was moving on his own. It wasn’t long before Voldemort felt his mate’s tongue on his back, or could see a waterfall of black spilling to either side of them, and one hand slid down around his hip to begin stroking his cock.

Except, Harry was obviously feeling a bit mischievous. He wrapped a huge section of his own hair around Voldemort’s cock, the result of which felt like—to Voldemort, anyway—being stimulated with ceaselessly shifting silk. Eventually, though, as his mate drew closer to his release and begin losing conscious control over his movements, that hair was allowed to fall aside.

Voldemort took dominion of their rhythm, knowing exactly how to make his mate completely lose it, and smiled faintly as the hand at his hip clutched him with bruising strength and Harry started jerking into him uncontrollably, the hand at his cock abruptly releasing and grasping at his other hip instead. And, like a switch had been flipped in his own body, Voldemort had barely reached back to assure his own orgasm when he came as well, almost helplessly riding out the waves of pleasure.

They took the rest of the day off.

* * *

Associated Snapshot: [Reward](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205221)


	14. Justus Bane

Harry was comfortably snuggled up against him when he mumbled into Voldemort’s neck, “Please be honest and tell me if I hurt you or not.”

Voldemort set his book aside and reached up to run a hand through his mate’s hair, enjoying the silky texture as it flowed between his fingers. “You did not hurt me, Harry, and I would not have allowed you to take me had I not been ready.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, my sweet.” He placed a kiss on Harry’s head. “Would you like to do that again?”

Harry sort of shook his head, but it was more like rubbing against him. “Not often, no. I felt . . . overwhelmed, but not in the same way as usual. I liked it, but. . . .”

“Yes, well, I’m sure if I were female, you might think differently on that point. In any case, I won’t say no to you on those occasions you desire it, Harry.”

His mate shuddered lightly, presumably at the idea of him not being a man. “I like it when you take care of me,” he whispered.

“And I like taking care of you,” he replied softly. “It makes me happy to do so.”

Harry snuggled against him more closely, then laughed a little, the sound muffled. “Do you remember, that first day—well, second, I guess—you and your theory?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“I didn’t understand really, why you would want to try to feed me. I mean, I know it was to prove or disprove a theory, but. . . . I didn’t understand why anyone would—that anyone might find me, um. . . .”

“Desirable?” Voldemort suggested.

Harry nodded.

“Several things come to mind, if you want to hear them.” His mate nodded again, so he said, “I find you aesthetically pleasing, Harry, in your natural state. And there is a certain suggestion of innocent sexuality, which is very alluring, especially to an evil bastard like myself. Of course, there is also the fact that you are an incubus, but I would like to believe had you looked like Fudge, for example, that I would have at least hesitated before making the offer.”

Harry snorted softly against his neck.

“I had also seen your mind, Harry, your memories. I knew how strong you are, how powerful and skilled, and that too is attractive. I greatly admired how cunningly you devised your plan to protect yourself, and the fact that you succeeded. So I had a number of reasons above and beyond simply wishing to test a theory.”

“There was no pity?”

“None. You didn’t seem the type to seek that, or be willing to accept it. Why risk angering you when I wanted to get you in my bed, hm?”

Harry snickered and sat back, then eyed him speculatively, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression. “Do you . . . ever want children?”

Voldemort lifted his chin slightly and arched a brow. “Are you feeling broody?”

Harry looked quite offended for a moment, then shook his head and pouted.

“I didn’t ask to upset you, my sweet. I have been reading those books, remember? I find I don’t mind the idea, in any case, though perhaps I might find the concept more interesting after we’ve run away from it all.”

“Will you? Run away from it all, I mean.” His mate looked very curious about that.

“I’m very tempted, yes, though not until certain people are dead, like Dumbledore. You said that wizarding society is hypocritical in the extreme and needs a wake up call. While I happen to agree, I’m not so sure any longer if I want to be the one to give it. Think of all the paperwork involved.”

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned in to brush lips, then whispered, “I don’t care, really, if we remain as dark lords or not in the end, so long as I’m with you.” And then his mate kissed him for real, angling his head and entreating entry, which Voldemort gladly gave, sliding his hands over every part of Harry he could reach, though avoiding the scales.

It hardly mattered that they had made love just an hour or so previously. His Harry seemed quite intent on the idea of seducing him into another round, and he could already feel his cock stirring to life at the idea. Voldemort pulled away slightly to say, “We will decide together, all right?”

“Yes,” Harry practically hissed, then sought his mouth again, beginning to rock slowly against his body and winding his arms around Voldemort’s neck.

Voldemort was once again overcome with myriad feelings, not just desire, but also that tightening in his chest that he thought might be something like love. Harry was his, all his, and not just because of some silly oath, and he knew he would rather die than give his mate up. He might not admit it to the world at large, but Harry had rather successfully wormed his way under Voldemort’s skin and into his heart, what there was of it.

He pushed forward, getting his mate to wrap his legs around his waist, then carried Harry into the bedroom and laid him down carefully. Voldemort then decided to have a bit of fun and shook out his wand, summoning something, which he placed on the bedside table momentarily.

Harry whined piteously at the lack of attention he was receiving and opened his eyes in confusion. “Tom,” he whispered, “please?”

“My sweet, you are the one who likes to bring up clichés, so now you’re going to have to handle a new one.” He picked up a small jar and held it so that his mate could see, then smiled deviously and opened it, a second later drizzling some of the contents down along Harry’s chest and stomach, over his beautifully stiff penis, and even his thighs.

Harry squirmed at the sensation, but let out a low moan after Voldemort set the jar aside and bent down to begin licking his mate’s thigh. “You’re already delicious, Harry, but this makes you even sweeter,” he murmured, then swept his tongue along another line of honey, smearing it slightly before licking and sucking it away.

Voldemort rather though it was a good thing he had no mane of hair to fall forward, lest it become quite sticky as he crouched over his mate to continue his impromptu snack. He cruelly bypassed Harry’s twitching cock and shifted around on the bed so that he might concentrate on his mate’s chest instead, smearing the honey around quite a lot. He gave Harry’s nipples undue attention, driving his mate mad as he rolled them around in his mouth and sucked and bit, then worked his way back downward, all the while shifting position.

He eventually ended up back between his mate’s legs, and finally deigned to sink that cock in his mouth, which set Harry to writhing around even more than he had been in that peculiar sinuous manner he had. This was . . . a different kind of power, driving someone so near the edge without letting them fall. Voldemort felt he might have accomplished his goal when Harry began pleading in Parseltongue rather disjointedly.

It was then that he straightened and positioned his cock for entrance, then thrust sharply. Harry moaned loudly and arched off the bed, so Voldemort slipped one arm around his mate’s waist to hold him up and gripped Harry’s hip with his free hand. “Please, my sweet,” he whispered as he thrust mercilessly into the body of his mate, “stroke yourself for me. I want to see you make yourself cum.”

Harry moaned again, his expression almost invisible for the amount of tangled locks that had managed to partially conceal his face from all the times he had tossed his head from side to side. But he did hear, and he did snake his hands down his body, one to begin almost frantically pulling at his cock, the other to etch faint red welts into his own skin as he dragged his nails along his inner thigh, or raked them back up his stomach and chest.

Voldemort continued to whisper encouragement, loving the way it made his mate even more wild and unrestrained, actively bucking against him. And then his . . . beloved—he thought he could finally admit that now to himself, feeling a bit girly there for a moment—practically heaved half his body off the bed as he exploded in orgasm. Voldemort tightened his hold and thrust faster, teetering on the edge himself, and then the dam burst, with him losing all control as his cock pulsed and his hips did exactly what they damn well pleased to eke out every last bit of pleasure.

He really could not bring himself to care a while later when he realized that they were both sticky, as were the sheets.

Late that afternoon Harry disappeared for a short while to see to his latest set of captives, then returned to perch on his lap with an odd smile. “All right. I really would like your advice on something, Tom, before I go any further.”

“On Fudge?” he inquired, lazily playing with a lock of his mate’s hair.

Harry nodded and bit his lip, then said, “I do plan to kill him. I don’t want you to think otherwise. It’s a question of when. So, if he’s still very useful to you—er, us—as minister, then I suppose I could delay things a bit.”

Voldemort felt puzzled at first, then nodded slowly. “Should I take that to mean you’d be willing to screw with his head and make him very agreeable to whatever Lucius asks for in the future, without all this dancing around we’ve had to be doing?”

“Yes, and also Justus Bane. If you would like to keep him for a while longer, then okay. I do have a plan to try to keep him in office, despite the story I let Skeeter run. In fact, I’d need her again to make it work. If not, though, I might just let myself indulge in purely physical torture.”

“Unfortunately, Harry, I do not have someone waiting in the wings to slide into that position, though I could find a candidate with enough hard slogging. If you’re comfortable holding off, then it would be easier to keep him around for the time being. I can, however, start looking so that if and when that day comes, we would have someone ready to take over for him that the people wouldn’t suspect.”

“You mean someone unmarked,” Harry said, then continued after Voldemort nodded. “All right, then I plan to set up a little something for tomorrow. I’ll send a note to Skeeter. After you’ve had dinner I’ll go finish my prep work.”

* * *

Now, it just so happened that one Rita Skeeter (and her trusty photographer) managed to stumble over a rather revealing conversation the next day between two people who had featured in the news of late, so she was very happy to duck down behind cover with her beloved quick-quotes quill and some parchment, and direct her man to surreptitiously snap a few shots (this time leaving out the flashbulbs, as the two men were conveniently sitting in plenty of light). And by then, if she hadn’t figured out who her employer really was, she either did not wish to think about it too hard, or simply didn’t give a damn.

“My lord sends a reply,” said Harry, presently lounging about as Ron Weasley.

“Truly?” Percy asked, the very picture of eagerness. “Do you think. . . ?”

Harry nodded and reached into his pocket, producing a hefty sack of galleons which he placed on the table between them and pushed over, and ignoring when it tipped a bit and spilled out several pieces of gold. “A gift, brother, for the accomplishment. The Dark Lord was very pleased with you once he realized the magnitude of the scheme you devised and carried out in order to get his attention and prove yourself worthy of him. Very slick of you to make sure that Skeeter woman was able to get photographs and cause a huge ruckus with her story. She always has been quite good at gilding the lily.”

“Will he. . . ?” Percy looked terribly anxious, barely even noticing the gold which might have equaled his salary for a year.

“You wish to be Marked?”

“Have I not earned it?” Percy said passionately. “I have encouraged that man to use me as his sexual outlet, all so that he would think I was completely harmless. And I did eventually manage to put him in a position whereby I could splash his face all over the Daily Prophet and possibly sink his career. He’s nothing but a fat fool in my opinion. And do you have any idea how difficult it is to paste a portkey on your ass by yourself and not have it be noticeable?”

Harry snorted softly and shook his head. “Percy, the Dark Lord expects results, not whining about how taxing it might be for you to accomplish. Make the mistake of saying something like that in front of him and I don’t even want to think about what sort of punishment you’d get. If you want to be Marked, I’d be more careful in how you speak.”

“I won’t, Ron. I’m talking to you in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said pompously, then got all anxious again. “Will he? What do I need to do?”

Harry aimed a faint smile at Percy. “First of all, at least put that gold away. My lord will be most upset if you can’t even appreciate his gift. If you want to go through with this, I’ll take—” Harry used his wand under the table to produce a noise over by where he knew his pet reporter was hiding, then whipped his head around in that direction.

“Bloody hell! I thought you said this spot was secure, Percy,” he accused, then shot to his feet. “Here, touch this,” he said, yanking a jagged piece of metal from his pocket. “Now, damn it!” Percy did, and they both disappeared a second later, leaving behind one hell of a lot of gold.

They arrived in the dungeon, of course. Percy simply stood there with a vacant look on his face, which made Harry curve up one corner of his mouth in a smile. Handy fucking thing, hypnosis. Too bad he hadn’t known about it all those years ago when he was forced to endure the Dursleys. Things could have been so much different growing up.

“Strip,” he commanded, and was gratified to see the latest addition to his kennel undress without hesitation. “Down,” he added, then walked over to Percy’s cell and opened it. “In you go, Weatherby, that’s right.” Once the up and coming compound bitch was safely inside Harry outfitted him exactly how he had Lupin, then exited, closing and locking the door behind him. A playback device was turned on, this one designed to reduce Percy into the mindless fuck toy he had originally intended Moony to be, and left him to it.

Then he corrected his appearance and headed off to the cell containing Cornelius Fudge to check to see how he was doing. Harry halted the playback set up for the minister and conjured up a stool so he could sit, then asked, “To whom do you give your unquestioning trust?”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Fudge said rather tonelessly.

“Anyone else?”

“Justus Bane.”

Harry nodded. “And you’ll obey either of those men without question or hesitation?”

“Yes,” Fudge affirmed.

“That makes me very happy,” Harry said. “Will you consciously remember any of this once you’re awake?”

“No.”

“Very good. What will you say or do when the media gets their hands on you?”

“I will lay all blame elsewhere and attempt to make people believe I was set up in order to get me out of office. I will claim that Weasley placed me under the imperius curse and forced me to perform unnatural acts with him. I will call into question Madam Bones’s handling of her department, as it should not have been possible for anyone to disable the wards around my office area and kidnap me from the very Ministry itself. I will—”

“Stop.” Harry nodded again; Fudge seemed to be absorbing his conditioning nicely, so he stood up and vanished his stool, then started the playback loop again and wandered off upstairs. Voldemort was alone, thankfully, so he perched on the edge of the desk. “Things are well, so far.”

Voldemort nodded. “I was watching. I expect we’ll be seeing another special edition of the Daily Prophet?”

“I certainly hope so after I went to all that trouble. If it’s the morning, I suppose that’s okay as well. I’ll just set Fudge up to sneak back into the public eye at some point after.”

“He only really needs to last until the next election. By then I could have chosen someone else, and even if they aren’t, strictly speaking, a supporter, you could use that nifty little trick of yours to make them one, at least under the surface,” Voldemort said with a slight smile. “And if the public refuses to accept his excuses over what happened, then we simply capture him again. You can torture him directly and kill him, and then we can subvert whoever ends up as minister in his place.”

“Sounds all right to me,” Harry responded agreeably.

“And who do you plan on considering next?”

Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth for a bit, then said, “Oh, probably the Weasleys. The last four I care about, that is. But not until after Percy’s name is slung through the mud a bit more as a wannabe Death Eater. Besides, I have to wonder how much more difficult it’s going to become, catching them. Dumbledore’s got to be hurting in a serious way what with half his people vanishing whenever he looks away.”

Voldemort shrugged slightly and started ticking names off on his fingers. “Severus disappeared after reporting in to me, Moody from Knockturn Alley, Ronald and Hermione from their cottage, Tonks from the Ministry environs, Remus from their headquarters, Neville from a park, and Ginevra from the Burrow. We’ve taken them from all over the map, and Dumbledore cannot _be_ everywhere.”

“No, but he can try to beef up defenses, at least for homes and workplaces,” Harry countered. “We could go check out the Burrow discreetly and investigate the warding, see if it’s changed any from what Moody seemed to think it was. And then the twins. I guess if Dumblefuck has become really antsy, he might have tried to force people into a new location, though I kind of doubt it’d be HQ.”

Then Harry frowned heavily. “And what happens if that bastard decides to use Order members to hide my properties from me? For all we know, he might move HQ to the house at Wakefield, or possibly have trapped the damn place already.”

Voldemort reached over to soothingly brush his fingers across the back of his Harry’s hand. “Yes, and he might have blown them up just to be spiteful. I would not worry about it at present. Once we have him you can find out directly from his mind, and then take care of things after the fact. On the other hand, if you really want to stir up a hornet’s nest and don’t give a damn about the reputation of Harry Potter, hire a few teams of goblins to go secure those properties.

“They aren’t affected quite the same as humans are by wizardry, and for enough money, would probably march right out there to each and slap so many sets of wards over them that Merlin himself couldn’t get in. Look, why don’t we go outside. Send a runner to fetch golems so you can work up an appetite, and then we can return to the house and have lunch.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the obvious attempt to distract him, but went along with it anyway.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge, after helpfully having imparted every last detail about the security at his home, was placed in a normally unused room in his house and left with instructions, and Harry slipped back outside and into his animagus form, that of a black Bengal cat, to hide in the bushes.

The Daily Prophet had run a story about the latest scandal, of how Percy Weasley was a Death Eater in the making, and all about his supposed attempt to single-handedly bring down the minister. Rita had embellished the short conversation, exploding it into a years long conspiracy that only grew in magnitude over time, probably spurred on and inspired by the small fortune in gold left behind.

She called into question the security at the Ministry, and even the employee screening process, pointing any number of fingers at Madam Bones. Skeeter also made sure to dress up Ron Weasley’s role in things and made it quite plain that he was acting as emissary for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and had spirited Percy away at the first sign of trouble, presumably to be given the Dark Mark.

Harry watched as Fudge attempted to slip out the back door of his home quietly and was immediately brought up short by a horde of reporters who had arrived in the interim. They began screaming out questions, to which Fudge stubbornly shook his head. All he would say is, “I shall arrange for a press conference. You will all simply have to wait until then. Now please vacate the premises.” And with that he turned and disappeared back inside.

The show over, Harry slinked off through the fringes of the back garden and found a place to transform, then headed off to the Ministry, knowing that Fudge would be along in a short while as instructed, and decided to see just how deeply his supposed cover as Justus Bane went. That occasioned a trip to the dusty records office where he began digging around after being helpfully shown where things were by an oddly chipper sort of fellow with long flame-red hair and frightfully pale skin.

He pulled himself away reluctantly when the time came, feeling really quite puzzled, then hastened off to coincidentally be present for when Fudge’s conference began. Cornelius had set himself up in one of the Wizengamot courtrooms so he could look out over a sea of voraciously inquisitive faces. Harry took a position off to one side where he wouldn’t be trampled by enthusiastic reporters, and set himself to listen, feeling Voldemort settling in to watch as well.

Fudge orated for quite some time on his ordeal, and his gratitude over the fact that his erstwhile captor had been witless enough to provide him the opportunity to gain his freedom. He was impassioned, speaking in clear, ringing tones about the travesty of anyone, and the minister no less, being so badly protected within those hallowed halls as to be subject to kidnapping, dark magic, and what amounted to torture.

He went on to firmly chastise the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for their dismal failures, and promise to immediately appoint a committee to begin an investigation into how such a mockery of security could have been accomplished, and to see just how much slacking off had been occurring in all matters pertaining to the safety of those within the Ministry building.

Eventually he finished up his long-winded speech. “And I will not stand for my good name and reputation to be dragged further through the mud! This is an outrage!” he exclaimed, his face all pink from exertion.

“Minister!” shouted Skeeter. “What of the Weasley brothers?”

Fudge harrumphed and responded, “They will be captured and brought in for questioning and trial, of course! I’m sure Azkaban would love to have some new inmates.”

“On what charges specifically?” shouted out another.

Fudge looked very much like he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead settled for saying, “Ronald Weasley has been linked to, at the very least, collusion with the Dark Lord, suspicion of being a Death Eater, the destruction of numerous properties in Hogsmeade, and may be responsible for the disappearances of a number of people lately, known supporters of the Light, some of which have regrettably turned up dead. Percy Weasley is charged with use of the imperius curse, inciting slander against a public official, misuse of Ministry funds and personnel, and the suspicion of being a Death Eater.”

The questions went on for quite a bit longer before Fudge became tired of the limelight and called an end to things. And by then, reporters were starting to repeat questions, possibly hoping to catch him off guard or confuse him by varying the wording they used. Through it all, the man performed exactly as instructed by Harry via hypnotic suggestion and conditioning, so he was well pleased with the results. He also had no doubt that Fudge would be spending an inordinate amount of money to make his wife cease her threats of divorce, or worse.

Harry decided to head home. However, he was stopped on his way to the atrium by a very familiar voice coming from behind him. “Justus Bane?”

Harry made a casual sort of turn and gave Albus Dumbledore a once-over, then said, “Yes.”

“I would appreciate,” Dumbledore said in that rather dusty voice of his, “if you would enlighten me as to the whereabouts of Nymphadora Tonks.”

Harry’s expression went quite blank. “All information pertaining to the Unspeakables is classified, as I’m sure you’re aware of. Have a good day.” He started to turn away, but Dumbledore spoke again.

“I really must insist. She has not been seen for quite some time or communicated with anyone.”

Harry made his face go even more blank, if possible, and said, “I do not exist to satisfy your whims or curiosity, regardless of who you may be or what honors you may hold. I am, however, permitted enough leeway to inform you that Miss Tonks has been adequately performing her present duties. I suggest you find other things and other people to concern yourself with.”

“I do not appreciate your attitude, my boy.”

Harry aimed a very faint smile at Dumbledore. “What you mean to say, more precisely, is that you fail to appreciate a person who refuses to cower before your reputation and bow to your demands. There is nothing further to discuss.” He turned away and began walking again, hearing that Dumbledore was following, but ignoring him, counting on his senses to protect him from any potential attacks, not that he expected one to occur in the middle of the Ministry itself.

He had just approached the visitor’s entrance when he heard, “This is not the end.”

Harry tossed back over his shoulder quietly, “Quite possibly,” then stepped inside the lift and turned around to face Dumbledore as the door slid shut. “Exit,” he requested, and was shortly gliding upward and out of sight.

He found Voldemort in his usual chair, and nodded a greeting, then stripped out of his clothing with great relief, tossing it all in a pile off to one side and taking a few moments to fix his appearance. Then he pushed Voldemort’s book out of the way so he could crawl onto his lover’s lap and snuggle up close.

It always made him feel better to do so. He felt safe, accepted, and cared for within the shelter of Voldemort’s arms. He felt so certain that even if Voldemort did not have all the answers, or could not make everything better, he would do his absolute best to help if asked. And, given that Harry was still feeling very puzzled over his visit to the archives, he decided to share his findings and thoughts.

“Tom, I thought the credentials of Justus Bane were fake,” he said softly.

“They are,” Voldemort responded. “Certainly good enough to fool most people, and there was a bit of documentation put in place to support them. Why?”

“Um, Tom, a bit? I checked the archives at the Ministry. Were you aware that Justus Bane has been employed as an Unspeakable for the past fifteen years? That he has a complete history on record, with OWL and NEWT scores, up until the point he supposedly went into the Department of Mysteries? Tom, he even apparently has a vault at Gringotts where all his pay has been going. If it weren’t for the fact that I created him myself, I’d say he was a bloody real person!”

Voldemort caused Harry to sit back and gave him a mystified look. “I certainly didn’t order anything of that magnitude. My people are good, but not that good.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, that’s nice. You don’t have a clue, either. Though, it is rather funny to think that I’m being subsidized by the Ministry without their knowledge. I guess I could toddle off to Gringotts again at some point and inquire about the vault.”

“Without a key?”

Harry shrugged again. “If someone went to all that trouble to help secure a fake identity I created, I’m sure they’d have fiddled things at the bank, too.”

“This does make me wary, my sweet. The only other person with real knowledge of Justus Bane is Lucius, and I know beyond question he could not have managed this feat, nor even attempted it without my orders to do so.”

“I’ll just be extra careful when I go out as him, and I may start doing some of my workouts blindfolded just to push my awareness a bit further.”

Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. “And terrorize the daylights out of our people in the process.”

Harry lifted his chin and said, “Well, maybe I’ll just add that to the list of required training courses. Blindfold the lot of them and force them to fight. If nothing else it would produce a list of people who would be very handy on certain types of missions or raids.”

“You, my sweet Harry, are the law when it comes to that sort of thing, so do whatever makes you happy and think will benefit us. Now, I notice that our dear friend Dumbledore finally lost control of himself enough to approach you.”

Harry snorted and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. I was feeling sort of torn, actually. I really wanted to slice him up on the spot, but it was rather fun playing with him. Something tells me he really doesn’t like it when people say no to him.”

“There’s a shock,” Voldemort said dryly. “If nothing else it shows that word got around, and that Dumbledore is worried about the chit’s absence. The fact that he bothered to inquire means he hasn’t entirely written her off yet as dead.”

“He’ll find out eventually. Listen, how much were you able to get out of Snape’s head about his experiments?”

“Enough to know what he was attempting, and to know where he stashed all his research. Do you wish to raid his home? We could, you know.”

“Yeah, I think I would like to. I’m sort of curious to know if we could steal any of that research, or if most of those potions were designed with my, er, unique physiology in mind, making them useless for our own people.”

“I have the coordinates, Harry. We can go now if you wish, or later, this evening.”

“Now is fine. I don’t have anything I particularly wish to be doing.” And so they went, but not without putting on disguises first, and eventually arrived at a rather dingy looking semi-detached house in a run-down section of a town near Manchester. Harry’s reaction was to murmur, “Good lord. And I had the balls to complain about Privet Drive?”

Voldemort shook his head in amusement and led Harry closer, pausing only briefly to check for any warding that might have been put in place since Snape had last been there, and pointing out to him exactly what they were looking at. Harry allowed himself to then be led inside the house, promptly wrinkling his nose at what he considered to be downright appalling conditions. “Even my damn cupboard was cleaner than this!”

He was promptly led off into the back room, the kitchen, where Voldemort opened what looked like a cupboard, but was in reality a cooling box filled with spoiled and rotting foodstuffs. Harry staggered back at the assault on his poor nose, though it did not seem to bother his lover so much. He idly wondered if Voldemort’s sense of smell worked differently than his own.

A few minutes later Voldemort had carefully pried open the back of the interior, reached in and done something, then put everything back into place, ending up by closing the cupboard again.

“Huh?” Harry said.

Voldemort smiled at him and took his hand, then led him back to the sitting room and through a door that opened directly onto a set of stairs. Upstairs were two rooms, both just as cramped as below, and one of them was outfitted with a dilapidated bed with tattered linens and hangings. His lover pointed at a spot on the back wall, causing his gaze to take in a section that had presumably sprung open due to whatever had gone on downstairs, then strode over and pulled out a stack of what looked like journals.

Those were placed in his pocket before Voldemort pushed the bricks back into place. It did not even seem to be magic responsible for how well they blended back together. The very fact that all the walls were in sad shape, with crumbling mortar and cracks, made it very difficult to see anything suspicious. They left a minute later, after Harry had curiously poked his head into the other room to find a bathroom in what likely used to be another bedroom.

The journals came back out once they were home and Voldemort placed them on the side table in the sitting room, sat down, then began checking inside the front covers of each as Harry looked on. “This one,” Voldemort said, shaking one slightly, “appears to be a bit more personal and not so much research.”

Harry reached out to take it, then looked inside. Snape’s distinctive handwriting filled the pages, and his attention was immediately caught on seeing his own name. He left the research to Voldemort while he settled in to read.


	15. A-Mazed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A certain person was never promoted to Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, because Scrimgeour never became minister. Just sayin’...

Voldemort continued to peruse the research journals as his mate read, but looked up every so often as Harry made the occasional odd noise. “Harry, what is it?” he finally asked.

Harry lifted his gaze and gave him a rather peculiar look. “Did you have any idea just how conflicted Snape was?”

He blinked and arched a brow. “I’m not sure I understand. I do know he was unable to resist your thrall fully, and that your disappearance caused him a great deal of trouble personally.”

Harry shook his head almost violently. “No, he—yes, okay, he couldn’t fully resist. The thing is, he’s written here pages and pages about it. It was almost tearing him apart inside to resist, and to keep hurting me, but he persisted in spite of it. He really believed it was the best course of action, to train me like that, and that I deserved it, all of it. Fine, over time he was losing his true desire to exercise his sadism, but. . . .”

“Harry, that can only be a function of your incubus nature. Something to protect you, or at least try to. Please don’t tell me you’re feeling . . . sympathy for his plight? He deserved all the pain and suffering it caused him, not to mention what you did to him deliberately.”

“I just—I don’t know. The books never said anything about this.”

“All this proves is that their scheme would not have worked out in the end. It is likely that Severus would have spirited you away at some point, finally worn down to the point where he couldn’t stand it any longer.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder and said, “And maybe he would have made sure I killed you prior to that.”

“Surely, and then hidden you away, rather than killing you, and made sure you never left his sight again. If I’ve gleaned even a tenth of the contents of that”—he nodded at the journal Harry was holding—“from what you’ve said, he would have struggled until the bitter end, continuing to abuse you, Harry, until you were either dead, he was, or he capitulated and tried to initiate a full bond.”

“I’d like to think that wouldn’t have worked!” Harry looked quite horrified at the idea.

“Yes, well, his struggle does not negate his actions, my sweet. His struggle does not erase the evil he did to you, nor his reasons for doing so. Can you honestly tell me you might have let him live if you had known this?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “No, you’re right. He created the problem to begin with, then got caught in a trap of his own making. I shouldn’t be letting the fact that something I couldn’t even control was trying to subvert his will be any kind of excuse to feel guilt. He might still have done those things if he hadn’t been able to induce my transformation.”

Voldemort nodded in agreement. “He says how he actually felt about you?”

His mate rolled his eyes expansively. “Nothing I’ve not heard before. I’m arrogant, insolent, stupid, prideful, reckless, careless, thoughtless. . . . And I look enough like my father to call it good and unleash the horror that is Snape’s personality, not to mention his skill with a whip. Maybe I’ll just skip to the last few entries. This is almost unbearable to read.”

“I would like to see it when you’re done, if you don’t object,” he said.

Harry shook his head and went back to reading, so Voldemort returned to his own. And when his mate became increasingly restless, finally snapping the journal shut with a thump, Voldemort looked up again and said, “Perhaps a workout?”

His mate didn’t protest and they were shortly out in the field back behind their offices, a crowd gathering like always, many of them grouped up by squad. Voldemort could only assume members of the training staff had called their trainees over for another demonstration/lesson. He shrugged mentally and redirected his focus to Harry, who was just then starting, and watched with a faint smile as his mate romped through a hundred golems like they were nothing.

He decapitated one golem so forcefully that the head went flying into the spectators to be caught by none other than Draco Malfoy, who apparently retained _some_ of his seeker attributes, though the young man hastily dropped it and wiped his hands off on his robes, then tried to look like nothing untoward had happened.

Harry eventually finished up, whistling as a signal for clean-up crews to get to work, then strode over to Voldemort looking quite a bit more relaxed. “A good suggestion, cosire, of course,” he said.

“Would I be wrong to assume you’re hungry now?” Voldemort had wanted to soothe away his mate’s agitation, but he also knew he would get to play as well after the fact.

Harry shot him a knowing look, telling him his reasoning was no longer so opaque, and nodded. “Yes, very. Shall we?”

As they were walking away one of the squads broke out into a round of harmless pushing and shoving, ejecting one of their number as Harry and Voldemort drew close, to practically land at his mate’s feet. Harry’s reaction was to cross his arms and begin tapping one foot slowly.

The trainee looked up, revealing a flushed face. “My lord?”

“What, Chauncey Fouse, do you think you’re doing?” Harry said in a sort of creepy dead tone.

The young man glanced back over his shoulder at his mates, made a slight face, then gazed at Harry and said, “My lord, I admire you so much, and I’d like to . . . offer, uh, myself. . . .”

Voldemort nearly blinked in surprise, casting a very discreet look at the squad before focusing back on the trainee. He got the distinct impression the young man wasn’t offering to be an aide of some sort.

Harry unfolded his arms and held out one hand in a semi-dramatic gesture, not saying a word; the trainee cringed slightly. Several moments later Voldemort watched in surprise as everyone in the near vicinity seemed to want to curl in on themselves, and people quickly began finding reasons to be elsewhere. The trainee actually did curl up on the ground, his entire mien screaming fear.

His mate retracted his hand, glanced at Voldemort, then began walking again. Voldemort managed to contain his curiosity until they were inside the house, then said, “Right. What the blazes was that?”

Harry flashed him a cheerful grin. “It’s a new trick!” he enthused. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to actually use it, though. You know how I can broadcast? Well, after that little incident with Moony, I was feeling a bit worried. What if someone else tried something? One of the men. So I had a think about things and wondered if it was possible to invert thrall. And apparently, it works pretty damn good.”

“Those men looked almost like they were experiencing a dementor’s presence, my sweet,” Voldemort said as they entered the sitting room.

Harry bit his lip, then shook his head and chuckled as he started to undress. “No, I think it’s more like their naughty bits were trying to find safety by crawling up inside their bodies.” He stripped off the last of his clothing and moved forward to grab Voldemort’s hand, then dragged him into the bedroom, and further, into the bathroom, where he began filling the large tub they had.

While that was going Harry undressed his lover, flipping off the taps once he was done, then stepped in, pulling Voldemort along with him. “I may be hungry, but I also need a bath after that workout.”

Voldemort allowed himself to be situated between his mate’s legs, then bathed, and Harry was very sure to soap up his penis and scrotum with loving attention. Naturally, by the time his mate was done he was aching to possess him, but first he really ought to return the favor, so he did, resituating himself behind Harry and giving him the exact same treatment, though his mate did come in for a luxurious interlude in which his hair was lathered up and rinsed.

Harry was quite eager by then to arrange himself in a kneeling position and half support himself over the edge of the tub, though he did mutter something about adding grips for future playtime, and pushed back strongly when Voldemort positioned the head of his cock and began to ease forward. Voldemort took the opportunity to glide his tongue over his mate’s scales as one hand slid over Harry’s slick flesh to grasp his cock and the other moved to tease his chest and stomach.

Harry went wild under him, splashing water everywhere with his frenzied rocking, his hair becoming increasingly tangled and in the way. Voldemort briefly entertained the thought of gathering it up and wrapping it around one hand, but dismissed the idea immediately as being too much like using it as a leash or reins. Instead he slid a hand back to grip his mate’s hip to gain more control over their rhythm and began pounding into Harry while stroking and squeezing his cock more firmly to counteract the slippery conditions.

A few moments later Harry tossed his head back and quite nearly yowled, bringing sharply to Voldemort’s mind his mate’s animagus form. And that set him off, barely able to keep milking Harry’s cock as his own started pulsing and his hips jerked almost uncontrollably.

Several minutes later Harry murmured, “There are times when all I want to do is laze about all day, with you, making love over and over again, and the world be damned.”

Voldemort hauled them both upright and kissed the side of Harry’s neck, ignoring the wet strands of hair that stuck to it. “Soon enough, my sweet, if you wish,” he murmured back, then said more normally, “But until then, that’s what weekends are for, no?”

* * *

Harry spent quite a lot of time at Gringotts that afternoon making arrangements. His account manager was absolutely delighted with the hefty bonus he was given after a long discussion about hiring teams of goblins to go secure his properties, Harry having decided he didn’t much care any longer whether or not his name ended up dragged through the mud. Once all that was out of the way he moved on to the next point of business, that of seeing whether or not the Weasley twins were actually paying him for the use of his face and name; they were not, according to Nitpuff.

Harry took that in stride, having already assumed he was being shafted, and moved right along to the next thing. After a few questions and a bit of checking on Nitpuff’s part, it was revealed that the Weasley twins had taken out a loan in order to purchase 93 Diagon Alley. Harry was thrilled beyond words to take title to the property on the spot (though it did take a few minutes to complete the transaction). The twins might continue to make their payments, but they would be going to Harry, not the goblins.

Such an action also gave him certain rights when it came to their shop and attached living quarters, though much like in the muggle world, that did not mean he could barge in at all hours of the day and night. Harry was also aware that the twins were only about halfway to paying off the loan, which meant the business had to be doing at least decently. That told him he had plenty of time in which to work, but he was feeling rather antsy about the fact that he still had people he wanted to torture and kill, and it had been a while since Umbridge by his reckoning.

Nitpuff was quick to assure him, however, that with adequate persuasion (translation: oodles of galleons), the goblins would display unwavering dedication if it came to a point where the property needed to be seized. Let it not be said that Harry was stingy when it came to money. After all, he barely had much to spend it on to begin with and he did have tons of the stuff. The paperwork, when handed over, showed Justus Bane as being the proud new owner of that particular location.

And a bit of discreet questioning (involving more gold) did make plain that he did have a vault he could access under that name. Nitpuff had asked him a rather odd security question in Harry’s opinion in order to produce a key. He wanted a description of the person who had assisted him in the Ministry records room.

That having been taken care of, Harry pulled up his hood and wandered out, morphing into the guise of Justus Bane on his way to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Once inside he made a quiet show of inspecting the shop floor, eventually attracting the attention of one of the twins, who drifted up beside him with a puzzled look.

“Is there something wrong?”

Harry slid his gaze over and said, “No, Mr Weasley. I have received a very generous offer to purchase this property outright and was here to see if it looked as though you and your brother would be able to settle the loan, or if it would be necessary for me to initiate foreclosure proceedings.”

“What!? The goblins own this property right now. That’s who we’re buying it from.”

Harry shook his head slowly. “You are mistaken, I assure you. The goblins act as an intermediary, that is all.” Then he turned to face the twin fully. “I suggest you speak with your brother to decide if you wish to pay off your loan in full and not take the risk of having to relocate. In any case, an offer five times the worth of this property is not something I can easily overlook.”

The twin in question had lost all colour, leading Harry to believe they simply couldn’t afford to make good. And, given that he had understood the business was doing well, he wondered just exactly what they had been spending all their money on aside from payments, supplies, and things like food.

“George!” The second twin appeared a few moments later, and Fred quickly explained in hushed tones what was going on while George gave Harry a rather suspicious look.

“Wait here a minute,” George said, then headed through a nearby door.

Harry strained his awareness and senses to the utmost and was just barely able to hear the twin making a firecall. “We’re in a bind, sir,” he could hear George saying. “We need to pay off our loan now, in full, or we’ll lose this shop.”

A dusty voice replied, “I’m afraid I cannot help.”

“But, sir, what about Harry?”

The dusty voice replied, “It has come to my attention that access to those funds has been cut off.”

“But—” George made a sound of frustration. “Sir, how is that possible? And can’t we just send in someone under polyjuice? We still have plenty of hair left over from when we last saw Snape.”

Harry nearly raised a brow in surprise at that bit of knowledge. That explained the alarming gaps in his memory he had thought he had, and why his visage was so unlike himself when it came to things like grinning his approval of a product. Fred was shifting back and forth restlessly, obviously unable to hear his brother’s conversation.

“Doubtful,” said the dusty voice. “The goblins do have ways of assuring a person’s identity, and should an apparent Harry Potter show up without a key, they would check. As it is, all keys I hold are useless. Who—”

“All right, sir,” George said, overriding the man, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you.” He appeared a few seconds later looking quite harassed and cast a worried look at Fred, then turned his attention to Harry. “How long do we have? Is there some sort of deal we can make?”

“I suppose that depends,” Harry said rather tonelessly. “I might be persuaded to transfer your loan onto a different property here in the alley and discount it somewhat.”

The brothers exchanged a look. “Do you even have proof that you own this place?”

Harry aimed a faint smile at them and nodded. “Indeed.” He produced a copy of the title for them to verify, then tucked it away as they sighed heavily in tandem.

“Where exactly is this other property?” George asked, almost reluctantly.

“A few doors down from Terrortours, at number 57.”

George pondered for a second, then said, “Will you excuse us for a moment, please?”

“Certainly.” Harry moved a short distance away, ostensibly deciding to peruse the shelves of goods, but in reality straining his hearing in their direction and keeping an eye on them peripherally.

“I feel like I’ve heard that name before,” George was saying quietly.

Fred dismissed that with an impatient gesture. “Whatever. We can’t bloody well afford to settle. Now I wish we’d spent less money on entertainment, girls, and fripperies. I mean, did we _really_ need entire wardrobes made from the finest dragonhide? What about Dumbledore?”

“We didn’t know this could happen,” George argued. “And no, he can’t help. He’s lost access to Harry’s accounts so there’s no more free money for any of us.”

“We have to use our own?” Fred sounded aghast at the idea. “We’re doing good, but not so good as to pay _and_ maintain our lifestyle.”

“It can’t be helped, Fred. What do you think? Should we ask to see the other location? It’s probably smaller if he’s willing to discount the remaining money we owe.”

“I think we’re going to have to. We might even be able to get him to rework the loan agreement so our payments are smaller, especially considering we’d already paid half up on this place. Though, I wouldn’t doubt we’ll have to cut back on luxuries a bit.”

“Learning how to cook might be a good start,” George said somewhat acidly. “I don’t think we have much choice unless we want to find a partner or backer.”

“So quickly? I don’t think so. Let’s go talk to him again.”

Harry turned to face them as they came to a stop at his side and displayed an expression of inquiry.

“We would like to see the other property, when it’s convenient.”

Harry nodded. “Today is fine. If you wish, I can meet you there after you’ve closed up for the evening.”

George said, “That’s just over an hour away, so all right. We can be there at 5.30.”

“Certainly. I will see you then,” Harry said, then walked away and out of the shop. A short time later he was entering 57 Diagon Alley, a property actually owned by Voldemort under one of his many false identities, and which had been recently vacated when the tenants found a location better suited to their needs. That made it very easy for him to add a few special touches to the place for the twins to enjoy during their upcoming visit, and then he set about tidying up, vanishing the mild accumulation of dust and making the front display window nice and sparkly clean again.

The twins arrived about when they said they would and Harry was happy to let them in (nudging Voldemort’s mind to let him know to expect visitors soon) and invite them to have a look around, upstairs and down.

“Upstairs is a flat?” one of them asked. 

Harry replied, “Yes. There’s a set of stairs, accessible from the back room.”

“I’ll check that out, then, while you look down here, Fred.” And with that George set off, quickly disappearing through a door at the back.

Fred began wandering around, checking out the empty displays and shelving, then went behind the counter area to poke around. Harry was exceptionally pleased when he took the given bait of a galleon innocently left right next to the register and promptly disappeared on attempting to pick it up. A few seconds later he received an image of an unconscious Fred from Voldemort and nodded, then headed off toward the stair to see about George.

Harry had trapped one of the doorknobs and arrived in time to see George reach out to open that particular door, it being the farthest from the interior flat entrance, and also disappear. He smiled, really quite pleased, and went back down to the ground floor to exit and secure the front door, then headed home.

By the time he arrived Voldemort already had both of them stripped down and was checking one of them over for dangerous items, so Harry started work on the other twin to save time. He would have to wait until the next day to capture their parents. In the meantime they could work these two over and dig around in their heads for anything interesting.

The next day, by some strange coincidence, Arthur Weasley was called out to investigate an incident involving a set of enchanted cutlery used at a muggle home in Barnsley. It was surely likewise a coincidence that when Arthur arrived Harry was holding a meat tenderizer in his hands like a mallet and trying to beat the tableware into submission. Arthur never had a chance to do whatever it was he ought to, as Voldemort nailed him from a dark corner of the room and knocked him out.

And while Voldemort took care of portkeying the man to a dungeon cell, Harry cleaned up, did a few repairs, then nipped upstairs to release the actual family from their short-lived comas. Within minutes he had followed his lover home, and now all he needed to do was capture Molly. And that, as it turned out, was almost too easy.

Arthur was placed under the imperius curse and planted in front of the fireplace in the twins’ flat. Of course, Harry and Voldemort knew all there was to know about the protections there having pillaged the twins’ minds, not to mention having learned about the back entrance to be found down a very narrow alley that ran behind the shops, barely wide enough for a person to walk through other than sideways.

Mr Weasley was ordered to firecall his wife and convince her to come through the fire to attend to the health of one of her boys. Given that it was a firecall she would not be able to tell he was being compelled with a curse, and she, true to her nature, popped through the fire within a couple of minutes and was promptly knocked out. Arthur was sent under again before he was portkeyed back to the dungeons along with his wife.

* * *

Voldemort did not see much of his mate during the week that followed. Harry was once again off doing mysterious things in preparation of his confrontation with the Weasleys. He was also spending time visiting his pet, Moony, and checking in on how Weatherby was coming along with his training regimen. However, Harry was extremely affectionate and cuddly during the evenings, always making him a delicious dinner and doing something nice for him, such as giving him a massage, though that was not to say he had not popped up frequently at around lunch time for the odd snack to tide him over.

“I really must wonder what you’re up to exactly,” Voldemort murmured against Harry’s neck Friday evening, then kissed the smooth flesh. His mate tilted his head so Voldemort bit down, eliciting a soft moan.

“Just a bit of renovation,” Harry said breathily.

Voldemort licked a line up toward his mate’s ear and said, “Oh?” Then he nipped Harry’s earlobe.

Harry let out a soft sigh and squirmed before saying, “Yes. Did you know that there’s a complex series of tunnels under this compound?”

He blinked and pushed Harry back so he could see his mate’s face. “Since when? And are they within the wards?”

Harry flirted his brows up for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, within. I made sure of it. As for since when? Uh, since about a week ago.” His grin was unrepentant. “I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s really fun to mess with people’s heads before I get to the real torture, Tom. There’s something I haven’t decided yet, though.”

Voldemort arched a brow, a tiny part of him wanting to be upset that his mate was getting himself involved in such grandiose schemes. Then again, Harry usually thought things through better than he used to when employing such methods.

“I don’t know if I should pretend to participate as Ron or not. I can’t decide if they’d be stupid enough to fall for it.”

“And just how would you plan to convince them, for whatever it is you intend to do?”

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “Well, we did take Divination for three years. Perhaps Ron decided he believed in it, and believed he could see the future, and joined Voldemort because he knew what was going to happen, and so he could be there to save them.”

Voldemort shook his head. “No. They might believe Ron Weasley is insane to some degree, but that won’t explain how it is that Ginny and Percy aren’t also being saved.”

“Well, you could play Percy, and I have an idea for Ginny.”

He shook his head again. “Harry, my sweet, you’re taking what is very likely to be a good idea too far. Don’t overcomplicate things. I allow that your portkey idea for Fudge was brilliantly done, but you should not necessarily take that as a reason to become overconfident. I do have experience in this sort of thing.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve asked,” Harry replied with a slight pout. “And all right, I won’t. I’ll stick to the easier version of things.”

Voldemort pulled Harry close for a moment to kiss away that pout, then said, “And when do you plan to move ahead?”

“Tomorrow, then, I guess.”

* * *

They were both watching from overhead. Harry had constructed something vaguely similar to the training facility in the sense that he and Voldemort could overlook the entire maze of tunnels without alerting the people within. The tunnels themselves were more on the order of partially excavated ancient ruins. Some of the walls resembled nothing so much as the sides of buried stone buildings and stretches of the floor were paved in cobblestones.

The four Weasleys awoke in a tunnel opening into what might have once been a common of sorts. A cracked and dirty fountain stood at the center of the open area, the ground surrounding it a mosaic of dulled and scratched coloured tiles that depicted fantastical sea creatures. They hauled themselves up, slapping away the earth that covered their clothing, and looked around in confusion.

George had the presence of mind to look up, possibly having noticed that the accumulation of dirt they had risen from might indicate a ceiling breach, but did not see a way out. “Does anyone remember how we got here?” he asked.

Molly started fussing over everyone, not particularly caring for the moment, as Arthur removed his cracked glasses and tried to wipe away the obscuring film without damaging them further.

Fred shook his head slowly. “I remember closing up the shop, but that’s it. It’s a blank from there.”

“You . . . were sick,” George said slowly, like he was trying to make sense of his memories. “I called mum and dad.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, patiently allowing his wife to try to tidy up his clothing. “You were worried. But, we . . . fell through?” He glanced up, puzzled.

“Ginny!” Molly shrieked and dashed off into the common, throwing herself onto the tiles at her daughter’s side. “Ginny, dear, please wake up!”

The menfolk rushed over as well, at least remembering that no one had seen her for some time. It was about then that everyone realized they were strangely wandless, not to mention barefoot, and their clothing was ragged and unkempt. 

Harry looked at Voldemort and smiled impishly. “I strongly considered making it look like the Ministry, just to really confuse them. In any case, I hope they enjoy dragging that golem around.”

“Ginny, please, wake up,” Molly repeated, gently shaking her daughter, and becoming increasingly upset when she received no response of any kind.

“We’ve got to find our way out of here. She might need medical attention,” George said. “Fred, help me look a short way down each, er, tunnel.”

“Ah, boys,” Arthur interjected, “why don’t we just apparate? There’s no point in wandering around down here trying to find a mundane way out.”

The twins exchanged a sheepish look and hung their heads for a moment. “Sorry, dad,” they said as one.

“You two grab your sister,” Arthur continued. “I’m sure you can manage between the two of you. We’ll meet up just outside the Burrow, all right? Molly, dear, you go first so you can get things ready.”

Molly stood up reluctantly, wringing her hands, then nodded. She went nowhere, however, and shook her head anxiously moments later. “It’s no good. There must be a ward up.”

Arthur sighed heavily and had another squint round. “We can be grateful there’s lights down here at least.” The second he said it one of the glowing orbs scattered about flickered and died, its light extinguishing; he groaned. “Boys, get your sister. When one of you gets tired, the other can take her for a bit.”

George moved to pull Ginny up off the floor and sling her over his shoulder while Fred began cautiously investigating the tunnels leading off the common. Fred’s attention was quickly caught by an engraving at the outer edge of the common’s circular mosaic, though, and he crouched down to brush away the dirt. “Wenlock,” he said wonderingly, then started checking the same spot that fronted each tunnel. “Elphick, Flamel, Knightley, Dodderidge, Bane.”

“Those are all surnames of famous people,” Arthur said helpfully. “Street names, do you suppose, in their honor?”

“I remember now,” George said suddenly. “We were visited by a man named Justus Bane. He owns the shop location, said he had received an offer to purchase it outright and that we had to pay up or get out.”

Molly blinked, seemingly torn between her boys being put into such a position and possibly the idea that they might finally be forced to find real jobs.

“He offered to show us a different, smaller property, but. . . .” Fred trailed off, his memory failing him again.

“Dumbledore is concerned about that man,” Arthur said. “He was the one who got Fudge to transfer Tonks to the Unspeakables, and no one has seen her since. He also couldn’t get any information out of him.”

“Is _this_ information helping us?” Molly asked a bit shrewishly. “We need to find a way out. If Dumbledore doesn’t like the man, then I suggest we don’t go down that tunnel.”

George gave his mother a look as if to say she was daft, but nodded anyway. “Then let’s go down Dodderidge. She founded the Leaky Cauldron, after all. Maybe it leads to there? Are we under Diagon Alley?”

Arthur sighed heavily again and found the tunnel marked Dodderidge, then motioned the others to follow. In less than a minute they trooped off, Ginny flopping about gracelessly over George’s shoulder, and ended up in a bewildering array of narrow covered streets and alleys, many of which had packed dirt floors with only patches of cobblestones peeking through.

Arthur steered a steady course, ignoring the offshoots, though he did pause on occasion to push at the odd door that revealed itself, but to no effect. They came to a T-junction eventually, the carving on the wall ahead reading Ollerton. He arbitrarily chose right (though it might have been that the left direction had no glowing orbs to light the way) and continued along, disappearing abruptly several yards in.

George nearly lost his grip on his supposed sister in shock and Molly shrieked. Fred pushed ahead and dropped into a crouch next to a section of the cobblestones, inspecting them closely, and then the walls to either side. After standing up he stamped a foot hard on the ground, ignoring his mother’s abortive attempt to restrain him, then scratched his head. “Portkey?” he asked of no one in particular.

“If dad stepped on a bloody portkey then there might be more scattered around down here. Who the hell knows where we’ll all end up.”

Harry skipped off to the side a ways, then nodded. Arthur had been ported to a different section of the fake underground town and was presently yelling out the names of his missing family members, trying to locate them by sound. He and Voldemort watched them for several hours as they scurried through the human-sized maze, even finding the time and inclination to make mad, passionate love to each other after Harry lost an impromptu bet over who would be the next to get shifted.

Weasleys were randomly ported about as they stepped with bare feet on enchanted stones or touched trapped sections of the walls. Eventually, though, they managed to exhaust not only themselves, but the multitude of portkeys, and found their weary way to the actual exit tunnel, which was marked, appropriately enough, Egress.

Harry and Voldemort hurriedly made their way to the dungeon itself, where the Weasleys would emerge, and prepared for their arrival, knowing they would finally end up going through the only actual door of substance in the entire maze.

* * *

Associated Snapshot: [Directions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205223)


	16. Weasleys Cubed

“Finally!” George said as they all tumbled through the door into a cell. “I thought we’d never . . . get. . . .”

Harry smiled and stepped forward, flicking his wand casually to cause the door they had entered through to slam shut with a dooming sense of finality, then vanish entirely. “Hey,” he said. “Fancy meeting you lot here.”

They started to curl in on themselves slightly, and Voldemort knew his mate must be employing inverse thrall as an intimidation tactic. He remained in shadows for the time being, enjoying his usual glass of wine, and blessing the fact that it was nearly impossible for him to become intoxicated. A variant on a silencing charm made it possible for him to shift about so as not to get stiff, as well, without them hearing.

Harry raised his brows when none of them responded to his words. “Cat got your tongues?”

“Harry,” Molly finally said, “would you be a dear and open this, er, door?” She pointed at the cell door.

Harry giggled and shook his head, then said contradictorily, “Sure!” Before he did, however, he lazily shook out a second wand and used both to hit them all with stunners. After opening the door he floated them out one by one and carefully strapped them into racks, smiling cheerfully the whole time. “Happy now? I let you out of one prison where none of you did so for me.”

The stunners had not been very strong, just enough to get them resituated, so they were able to respond. “Harry, please let Ginny go,” Molly said passionately. “She knew nothing, I swear it.”

Voldemort was mildly surprised that the woman was so blatantly admitting her connivance, though not by her attempt to spare her innocent child.

Harry cocked his head to the side and gave her a wide-eyed look. “You want me to free her? To release her?”

“Yes,” Molly said simply as Arthur nodded his agreement.

Harry began pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath, and eventually stopped to raise his wand and point it at the golem. “You’re sure about this?”

They all nodded.

“Well, all right,” Harry said. “I’d be happy to . . . release . . . her. After all, the only true freedom is in death, right? Avada Kedavra!” Blinding green light shot out of his wand and struck the golem, which instantly ceased its programmed breathing.

It took several minutes for the resulting cacophony of screaming and yelling to mute in intensity to mere sobbing and cursing. “That’s one!” Harry said cheerfully. “I remember your boggart, Molly mum. Wouldn’t want you to think I’d forgotten.”

“How could you?” she asked tearfully.

Harry smiled at her innocently. “Professor Dumbledore does say that death is the next great adventure. I’m sure wherever she is she’s no longer being hurt. Well, unless she really wasn’t innocent, in which case, all bets are off.” He paused, then added, “Then again, if it _is_ true that the afterlife allows you glimpses of the real world, I expect she’ll be hurting pretty badly once she understands what you’ve all done.”

“You vicious bastard,” Fred said raggedly. “She didn’t deserve to die. You saved her life once, and now you take it like she was some bug to squash?”

Harry shrugged and moved away a bit, toward a different cell. “She owed me a life debt, and she just paid up,” he said callously, then spelled open a door. “Come on out, Weatherby. Walkies!” Thirty seconds later he stepped back in front of his captives, Percy coming to sit on his haunches next to him and trying his best to pant like a dog.

“Isn’t he cute?” Harry asked. “I thought, well, maybe he doesn’t actually deserve to _die_. After all, his crime was being the minister’s whore, distracting him while Dumblefuck decided to ask Fudge to sign my life away one day. So I said to myself, ‘Self, Percy likes being authority’s bitch so much that I’ll fulfill a dream of his and make him one for real.’ And myself thought that was a brilliant idea.”

Percy made something vaguely resembling a barking noise so Harry reached down to ruffle his hair almost affectionately. “And you’re such a good doggy, aren’t you,” Harry said in a sickeningly sappy voice. Percy barked again and rubbed the side of his face against Harry’s thigh. “Yes you are. You’ll make a lovely addition to my kennel.”

“Percy?” Arthur said, his expression torn.

“Oh, he can’t answer you in English. Dogs don’t speak, they bark, and whine. It’s funny, actually. Skeeter’s article was more truthful than not for once. Weatherby here had been the minister’s bitch ever since the fiasco we know as the Triwizard Tournament and took great delight in serving Fudge’s needs,” he said maliciously. “Once I’m done with him he’ll take great delight in serving the needs of anyone who cares to use him.”

Harry stepped back and slapped his thigh, then led Percy back to his cell as the Weasleys gaped in horror at the condition of their son and brother. Harry returned a minute later and said, “That’s two! Who would you like to know about next, hm?”

Voldemort couldn’t quite decide if they were being so quiet because they were too emotionally overwrought or because they were hoping for some sort of leniency or mercy from Harry. He gave an unseen shrug; he flat out did not understand most people.

Harry decided to taunt them with Charlie next, even though of course he had not harmed a hair on the man’s head. He stuck one foot out and stared at his boot, then glanced up at the Weasleys. “Number three. You’d hardly know it, either. Charlie, such a talented fellow, and, I suspect, a bit changed by all that time with the dragons. Why, I was really impressed with how well his skin stood up to the tanning process.”

Already pale faces went paler as Harry examined his other boot. “He made for a really nice pair of boots, don’t you think? But, I don’t believe he appreciated being flayed alive. He looked quite peculiar when I was done, I must say. Would you like to see?” he inquired, then flicked his wand off to one side. A rack surged forward out of the darkness, revealing a corpse that only retained skin from the ankles down, wrists out, and the neck upward. Naturally, that corpse had Charlie Weasley’s face and build. Harry had even made sure a few fat flies appeared to be gorging themselves.

The four living Weasleys vomited at the sight. Voldemort considered it a very thoughtful touch that Harry had insisted that there be something of actual substance in their stomachs rather than hoping they would heave up normal stomach fluids. Either way, their already ragged and dirt-encrusted clothing was given a new layer of nastiness to add to the effect.

“It’s too bad, really,” Harry said as he spelled the rack back into the darkness. “It would have been nice to get more than one set of boots out of Charlie to remember him by. So, we’re up to . . . four? That would be Bill, then. Now, he really presented a challenge. But then, I had an idea, and you’re all going to be lucky enough to watch!” He flicked his wand lazily again, bringing into view an operating table like he’d had Tonks on, only this time it held the seeming body of Bill Weasley.

“No!” they shouted en masse.

“He wasn’t a part of things either!” Molly shrieked. “How could you!?”

Harry frowned slightly and swiftly cast spells to silence them. “I really don’t like being interrupted as I work, you know. As to why? Consider it partial payment, like Charlie, for your sins. You two, Arthur and Molly, were my surrogate parents. If anyone should have defended me. . . . Well, since you didn’t, I’m going to have some fun with your blood sprogs, so you can get an intimate taste of how it feels to see your own suffer even a little of what you let me feel.”

Voldemort watched as Harry seemed to cast several complicated spells, then said, “Now, those are to make sure Bill here doesn’t die on me early, or even lose consciousness. I’ve already removed his tongue, so I shan’t have to listen to him try to beg or anything silly like that.” More flicks of his wand produced an ornate table holding a series of jars in the stylized shapes of animals.

“Since Bill is such a fan of Egypt, I thought I’d do something really special for him. These”—he indicated the jars—“are canopic vessels, intended to hold viscera. You know, the soft internal organs? I’m putting a slight spin on things, because normally removal of that sort would kill him. He’ll live, though, due to magic.”

The wand went into its holster and Harry slipped on a pair of surgical gloves, then opened each of the jars and set the lids aside before snatching up a scalpel. The Weasleys were struggling in their racks and Molly’s face was swollen with silent tears. Harry sliced quickly and deeply across Bill’s abdomen, then set the scalpel aside long enough to wrench open the wound.

He managed to remove the liver and kidneys before Voldemort had to nudge him. Harry glanced up from dropping an organ into a jar and scowled. “Now, there’ll be none of that. If Bill has to stay awake through this, so do you all.” He wandered out of sight for a minute and reappeared dragging a small tub, then plunged his hands in to wash off the blood.

His wand appeared afterward and Harry cast several spells, those to keep his victims awake and unable to keep their eyes closed. The golem of Bill was moaning without surcease, but naturally his mate ignored that and went right back to digging around for organs to plop into the waiting jars, making sure to get blood everywhere in the process, even occasionally shaking his hands and splattering it over the Weasleys.

And then, the cavalry arrived, if one could call a single man the cavalry. Albus Dumbledore burst through the hidden door from whence they had arrived and then, into the dungeon proper, his wand extended in a threatening manner. “Fear not!” he thundered in that odd, dusty voice of his, then seemed to notice the captives could not voice their thoughts and quickly removed the silencing charms.

Harry rolled his eyes and scowled. “Bloody hell. How the fuck did _you_ find this place?” he asked over a background counterpoint of Weasleys screeching at the headmaster to be released. “Shut up, you lot!” Harry said and silenced them again before turning toward Dumbledore.

“You will let them go, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You will kill no more people in your madness. Surrender and we will make sure you get the help you need.”

Harry snorted rudely. “Have you been watching too much Monty Python? Is that it? I mean, who the fuck barges in and says, ‘Fear not!’ Oh, wait, you lot don’t normally have televisions, do you? Badly written fantasy novels, then? If the phrase ‘it’s just a flesh wound’ comes up any time soon, we’re going to have words.”

Dumbledore paused for just a split second, then rallied forth once more. “Harry, you must listen to me.”

“Like hell I do,” Harry responded. “My hitch in the army is up. I’m pretty sure I was given a medical discharge. The brass boys seemed to think I was a bit whacked in the head, though I can’t imagine why. In any case, I’m no longer a part of Dumblefuck’s Army, so you can just learn to deal with hearing someone tell you no.”

“I see I have no choice but to subdue you in a duel,” Dumbledore said gravely.

Harry giggled manically and stripped off his gloves, tossing them carelessly to the side before arming himself again. “Sure you’re up for it, old man? I think this lot will be really disappointed when you lose. Why, I think that might result in a shocking lack of faith in you.” He pushed the tables back out of the way to make room, then positioned himself, slightly crouched and ready to spring into action.

Voldemort was aware that the Weasley parents had only seen a couple of the earlier training missions Harry had done and so would not be adequately prepared for what was about to occur, and the twins had never really understood the results of his mate’s training.

Dumbledore made the first move, choosing to send a bludgeoning curse Harry’s way. Harry dodged fluidly and immediately conjured up a nest of serpents, hissing at them to harass the Weasleys. Then he strafed Dumbledore with reductor curses as he moved in a semicircle. The old man was surprisingly agile as he avoided them and returned with an obscure bit of transfiguration.

Harry summoned a door off its hinges from one of the unused cells and levitated it to intercept, then flung it toward Dumbledore with a swish of his wand. It came back a moment later, missing Arthur Weasley by a hairsbreadth, and causing the man to lose control of his bodily functions. “Ware, old man! Those snakes might kill the very people you’re trying to save.”

Dumbledore hesitated for a second, cast a spell to lower the temperature in the room, then attacked again with an entrail-expelling curse. Harry skipped aside nimbly and favored the old man with a blasting curse that was bounced back almost immediately. Harry ducked to the side and it hit Bill instead; a second later blood and guts exploded everywhere, splattering the Weasleys a fair amount and causing them to dry heave.

Harry giggled again and shook his head as he circled around at a fair distance. “Naughty naughty, Dumblefuck. You’re supposed to subdue me and save them, not kill your own people.”

“I will prevail,” came that dusty voice. “Darkness shall not win over the Light.”

Harry laughed. “And you actually believe that shit?” he asked as he let loose with a volley of blasting curses. “You, the one who acts ten times worse than any dark lords I happen to know?”

“Your serpent’s tongue will not sway me,” Dumbledore said, firing off alternating bludgeoning and incarceration curses. “The Light exists to hold back the Dark, just as it is in nature.”

“Rhetoric, you hypocritical old man. Sheer rhetoric.” And then Harry got down to business, beginning to show off by moving so quickly he was nearly a blur, shooting off spells from what seemed like every direction at once.

Ten agonizing minutes passed as they fought and the dungeon became more and more like a scene out of a war-torn city. Molly lost control of her functions when a scalpel embedded itself into the rack she was on, right between her legs, and then the twins as canopic jars went flying straight at their heads only to be knocked away by Dumbledore at the last second.

Harry seemed a little pissed off when he shouted, “Hey! Those jars were expensive! Straight from Egypt I’ll have you know.”

Dumbledore seemed to be wearing down slightly, losing strength, and Harry’s expression was one of fanatical glee as he pressed his advantage. But then, Dumbledore held up a hand, and Harry skidded to a stop, planting one hand on his hip.

Dumbledore walked into the darkness, much to the obvious surprise of the Weasleys, and returned shortly thereafter with a glass of wine, which he began to sip as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do in the middle of a duel. “I haven’t had this good of a workout in years, Harry.”

Harry grinned and sent him a mock salute.

Dumbledore had another sip, then commented, “Rather a shame about Bill, though. I know how much you wanted to complete that evisceration.”

Harry pouted rather adorably. “Yes, true. But I still have these four to play with,” he said, totally ignoring the shocked struggling going on. “Are we done, then?”

“Yes, my sweet. I am weary of playing that silly old man.” Dumbledore raised his wand and made a complicated pattern in the air with it, his visage changing abruptly into that of Lord Voldemort once more. “I shall have some more wine while you continue to have your fun, Harry.” He smiled, which seemed to scare the Weasleys into a brief bout of unconsciousness that lasted approximately two seconds before the spells forced them back awake, then conjured up a squashy chair and had a seat, summoning over his little table and bottle of wine a moment later.

“Okay,” Harry said chirpily. “So, um, where was I before intermission? Oh! Right. Time for number five! By the way, folks, I am supposed to point out that this intermission was sponsored by the Dark Lord Performing Arts School of Serpens. They take only the best, the darkest, and the ones with the most evil laughter. And now, back to our session of torture! Up next is. . . .

“You might think I’m going to say Ron, but I’m not. After all, he’s done something very naughty himself, what with this whole business of joining Lord Voldemort. And you might think because of the rumors that he showed his loyalty by bringing either me or Lupin to the Dark Lord, but really, that’s not what happened at all.”

Harry turned slightly and waved his wand, bringing forth from the darkness the rack that still contained the corpse of Hermione Weasley. “You have _no_ idea how pleased he was to exercise his creativity on that mudblood he married. Seems to me that you’re going to have a deuced hard time getting any more grandsprogs, Molly mum.

“Now, for reference, I will point out that the younger Mrs Weasley is missing a tongue and most of her fingers and toes. You see, she flat out wouldn’t shut up, and Ronald was getting a wee bit tired of listening to her harp. You’ll also notice the numerous whip marks. I believe he may have got that idea from Sevvie, but I’d have to double-check. So, really, that brings us down to you four.”

Hermione’s rack was sent back with another wave of his wand and swallowed by darkness. “And that means we’re getting down to brass tacks. I think, in the interests of children first, that the twins are next on my list to administer chastisement to.”

Voldemort wondered where they were getting the energy to struggle from. The maze run had tired them all out and the excitement they had been put through since must have been draining as well.

Harry cleaned up slightly with his wand, more himself than anything else, and conjured a squashy chair to flop into. “So, you, Fred and George. You, the boys who came to rescue me one fine night from the oppression of the Dursleys and bring me back to yours. You, the boys who thoughtfully gifted me the Marauder’s Map. You never did figure out who the Marauders were, which I think is practically a criminal offense. Just so you know they were James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

“But, that’s not why you’re going to suffer and die. I thought it was rather nasty of you two to cozy up to me for all those years with the idea of using me. It’s worked out well, I admit. My face and name sells half the things in your shop, a shop you were able to start so early thanks to my generosity, and because I thought we all needed some cheering. Granted, I expect you’d have managed it either way. The Triwizard winnings I gave you just made it happen faster.

“In any case, I also thought it was nasty to find out that my vaults were seeing none of the profits. That’s my face splashed all over, selling your goods, and I saw nothing in the way of a fee, or royalties. You got your endorsements nearly for free. I know it cost you money to deal with Sevvie, but that was minor in comparison to the actual sales generated once you had your hands on polyjuice potion and samples of my hair so you could take photographs in secret.

“In that sense, I ended up being a whore in more ways than one. My mouth and ass were whored to Sevvie, my skill and ability to Dumbledore, while my face and name were whored to you two. You knew exactly what you were doing. It was a cold, hard business deal all the way. And even that wasn’t enough. You also used money from my accounts, given you by Dumblefuck, to support your lifestyle rather than relying on what was already a good income.

“You used my money for your loan payments, so in effect, I’ve paid half again the value of that property in order to obtain title. I guess it’s a good thing I’m so damn wealthy. I’ll never have to work a day in my life if I don’t want to, huh? But really, what it all comes down to is you sighted me that first day on the platform, thought about it, and decided I was the perfect cash cow opportunity. Precocious little bastards, weren’t you.”

Harry leapt out of the chair and said, “Well, boys, I want my money back, with interest, so the first thing that’s going to happen is I shave you both bald. Did you know, that even after a body dies, parts harvested prior can be used in polyjuice potion? Did you also know that there’s a massive black market for sexual perversities in the wizarding world out there? I happen to know of a little establishment that would pay me very handsomely for materials from twins.

“They like to be able to please their customers, fulfill their requests, you see, whether that be prostitutes who look like a particular someone, or those same faces to be worn so that someone can feel like they’ve killed the real deal.” Harry then whipped out a set of straight razors and charmed them, summoned two trays, and sent all of them over to the twins. It took a few minutes, but they both ended up shaved bald as an egg, all their hair neatly falling into the containers.

“Great! Now that that’s taken care of, let’s talk about payment again. You know, I really, really considered the idea of making you two organ donors. I could get tons of money for your organs on the black market, and you’d be helping people a bit more innocent than yourselves continue to live. However, that sort of lost all its fun when poor Bill got blown up like that. Not that I was going to sell his organs, mind you, but still.

“Anyway, everyone has such a hard time telling you two apart, so I’ll take care of that next,” Harry said, moving toward another wall shadowed in darkness. A soft whoosh sounded as a fire came to life. Or rather, was revealed. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of heavy gloves and put them on, then wrapped his hands around twin metal poles and hauled back.

They could clearly be seen as branding irons once he stepped back up to the twins, one for each of them. Harry grinned in anticipation as he held them up and pushed forward, the twins trying desperately to cringe back, away, but went stock still and let out soundless screams of agony when the irons pressed against their foreheads with a sickening sizzle. The scent of burning flesh filled that part of the room, and when Harry eased back and tossed the irons aside, each twin had a name branded into them.

Harry stripped off his gloves and tossed those aside as well. “Something tells me no one will have any problems now knowing which one of you is which.” Then he paused and looked almost upset. “Oh dear, I’ve done you with each other’s names. How dreadfully silly of me.” Harry tossed his hands up in the air and shook his head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re practically the same person anyway, right?”

Voldemort abruptly conceived an idea and cleared his throat softly, causing Harry to turn around and glance at him questioningly. “Harry, my sweet, a word if you please?”

Harry blinked, then nodded. “Of course.” He spelled his chair over to rest next to Voldemort’s and had a seat, then leaned sideways in a confidential posture. “What is it?”

“I find myself quite curious about the potential for your thrall. You can demonstrably restrain it, and even invert it, but can you direct it with any kind of finesse?” he almost whispered, even while making sure his voice would carry to the ears of his mate’s victims.

Harry turned his head to look at him directly. “What are you getting at?”

“Perhaps you hadn’t noticed during our little foray into their minds, but the twins are quite used to taking care of each other when necessary, if you catch my meaning.”

His mate gasped softly. “Who knew the wizarding world was filled with such kinky bastards. Next thing you’ll be telling me is Molly gets off on tying Arthur to the bed on occasion or buggering him with a strap-on.”

“Actually. . . .”

Harry shot to his feet and gave him an incredulous look.

Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. “Just teasing, love. Seriously, though. . . .” He did _not_ miss the sudden wetness in his mate’s eyes at that endearment, nor the look of total vulnerability that flashed across his face as Harry went to resume his seat. “I simply thought you might wish to take this opportunity to see just how much control you have. And if it upsets them, or some of them, all the better.”

Harry stared at him, then slowly, smiled. “Really?” he asked with a shy tilt of his head.

“Yes, really,” he replied, knowing exactly what his mate was asking. “Very much so.” He rather thought Harry wanted to crawl onto his lap on the spot and seduce him. He had another sip of wine and asked, “So what do you think?”

Harry licked his lips, instantly igniting a fire in Voldemort’s loins, and said, “I suppose you’re right, Tom. I should take the opportunities that present themselves, and expand my knowledge where possible.” He slid out of his chair, produced both wands, then strode forward confidently. In less than a minute a rather peculiar cage had come into existence, one that stretched from floor to ceiling and several yards in either direction, and was translucent as well as being pierced by a number of small holes.

It was into that construct that the two freshly stunned young men were placed. Harry spelled his chair over, then gestured for Voldemort to join him. The cage itself was situated between them and the elder Weasleys. Harry then holstered his wands and began to concentrate, his eyes narrowing. By the time they came out of the stun both were showing definite signs of arousal, and they had only each other to turn to.

They fought it, though, that was clear. They had separated themselves as much as possible within the cage and kept shooting anxiety-filled glances at their parents, and even at Harry and Voldemort. Voldemort chuckled when he realized that his mate had not bothered to clean either of them up, so their clothing was covered in fluids of all sorts, their own and that of their supposed brother.

Molly and Arthur seemed to be unaffected by Harry’s efforts, and instead were struggling in a way that suggested they wanted to prevent what might happen, and indeed, their unheard attempts at speech could be easily deciphered in some cases as things like, “No!”

Harry concentrated harder, raising his hands a bit and looking almost like he was trying to direct them individually. Time and effort wore them down; the twins capitulated, ripping off what remained of their clothing and flinging themselves at each other, dropping to the floor in a hungry kiss. Voldemort noticed his mate shudder slightly, then relax.

“What?” he whispered.

Harry glanced over, a gleam in his eyes. “Just thinking about how those mouths must taste, that’s all, not to mention the smell at close proximity.”

Voldemort shuddered as well, then looked through the construct to see how the parents were doing. Oddly, Arthur Weasley had settled into a look of immense sadness, though his wife was still doing her best to protest vehemently. It was one of those times he wished he was an empath or really could read minds with less effort than it took to blink. Voldemort was quite curious about what both of them were thinking and feeling.

Then he glanced back into the cage; George was the dominant twin if the display before him was anything to go by. Fred was face down on the floor, only his ass up in the air, while George pounded into him. Voldemort had no doubt Fred would have bruises on his hips if he lived so long as for them to properly form. He leaned sideways and whispered, “And just when did you cease thralling them?”

“Right about when they kissed. What they’re doing now is completely voluntary, and even at that, I don’t think thrall is all that much like, oh, the imperius curse. Closer to veela, I suppose.”

Voldemort half shrugged. “Perhaps. I am pleased that you’ve shown you can differentiate between targets, limit it to those chosen, and can find middle ground between a full broadcast and choking it back.”

“Well, if I was feeling really sick I could get them to engage in an orgy,” Harry quipped quietly. “Still, it’s a bit odd that Arthur is so . . . sad, don’t you think?”

George went slightly out of control, jerking wildly into his brother, then collapsed over his back.

“And now?” Voldemort asked quietly.

“Now I see just how interchangeable they are,” Harry replied just as quietly, then rose and aimed stunners through the air holes in the cage. Once both men collapsed Harry vanished the cage entirely and summoned over two tables. One to each, his mate poured potions down their throats and made sure they swallowed before he secured them down at the waist, chest, and throat with heavy leather straps.

The tables were . . . very different, though, not like the one Bill had been strapped to.

And before they were released from the stunners, Harry also removed the silencing charms. “Now, boys, I’m going to have a bit of fun experimenting with you two. Since I messed up those brands I’ll just have to make a few corrections, all right? You might even live through the experience. But don’t worry, in the end you’ll pay with your lives. Those potions were to paralyze you, by the way, which you’ve no doubt figured out, but you can still vocalize.”

Harry threw all caution to the winds and morphed into his Lord Thanatos appearance, a scythe appearing in his hand a second later. “I am Death,” Harry intoned. Then he wielded his scythe to the sound of frightened gibbering and slashed the curved blade down, slicing off Fred’s left arm at just below the shoulder. A few seconds later he had done the same to George.

The scythe disappeared before Harry crouched to pick up the dismembered limbs and swap them in his hands. Fred’s was placed on the left arm extension of George’s table, and vice versa, and Harry whipped out one of his wands to do a bit of repair surgery. When complete, their left arms had been reattached by magic, an angry red scar seam encircling each.

“That didn’t seem so hard, now did it?” Harry asked. “Let’s try the rest of them, hm?” He proceeded to lop off their right arms and swap them, then each of their legs. And through it all, thanks to spells Voldemort had thoughtfully taught his mate, the men lived. They weren’t exactly happy about it.

“I wonder,” Harry said absently. He produced his scythe again and pushed the sharp tip of the blade into Fred’s leg. Fred didn’t so much as twitch, but he did respond with a moan of pain. Harry turned to Voldemort and beamed. “Neat! Looks like I got the nerve endings all matched up properly. I wonder if they could actually move about normally if I released them.

“Something tells me, though, if I tried to do that with their heads, it’d fail,” he said quite seriously. “Probably the same if I split them up the middle and tried to attach them half to half. They’d most likely end up no better than Inferi, huh?”

Voldemort nodded, though frankly, he had no real idea.

“Aside from the hair, I’m not going to get much money back out of this deal so far.” Harry seemed rather upset about that. Then he straightened to his full height, which was an even six feet, and gave a feral sort of smile. “I guess payment in blood will do, boys.” With that pronouncement he swung his scythe sideways and sliced off both their penises, minute wrist movements making for clean cuts. “Let’s see how long it takes to bleed to death, darlings.”

Large jars were produced to contain the flow of blood, and Harry vanished his weapon and had a seat, deciding it was time to relax again for a bit. “It’s odd,” he whispered. “Arthur still just looks sad. Almost heartbroken. But not . . . necessarily because of the deaths or pain.”

Voldemort shrugged. “Perhaps after these two are dead you can remove the silencing spells and see what the man has to say.”

“I’ve got to say, this is one of the odder sessions I’ve done.” Harry gave him a look that mixed amusement with weariness.

“Don’t go soft on me just yet,” Voldemort said in a hushed tone.

His mate’s eyes gleamed. “No. Not yet. I still have vengeance to enact. After that, maybe I’ll settle for being intimidating in an exalted sort of way.”

“That I can believe, my sweet Harry.”

Harry’s gaze softened again, and he smiled, almost tremulously. “I shouldn’t like to disappoint.”

“Impossible.” Voldemort knew he should stop distracting his beloved from his work, but he just couldn’t help himself. Seeing that vulnerability was almost addicting, and the thought that it wasn’t due to pain. . . .

They waited in companionable silence until the twins breathed their last, dying at very nearly the same moment. Voldemort produced his wand long enough to discreetly cast stasis charms on the bodies, then sat back again as Harry did a teensy bit of tidying up.

“That’s six and seven,” Harry said, his eyes flicking back and forth from Arthur to Molly. “I guess that means it’s your turn, huh? Time for the old parental units to bite the proverbial bullet. Hey! That might be an interesting way to go, actually. Too bad I don’t happen to have any guns. Well, I suppose now that all your lovely children are dead, I should give you two the chance to comment. Maybe rate things on a scale of one to ten? Perhaps I should go ahead and make them Inferi after all and trot them out each Halloween.” He waved his wand twice.

“You unbelievable bastard,” Molly whispered after a moment. Harry didn’t bat an eyelash at that, naturally.

It was Arthur’s words that held Harry’s attention hostage. “You’re right, you know. We all deserve this retribution on your part. I might try to make some small allowance for the children—they were hit with this young—but there’s no excuse for grown men and women to have ever gone along with Albus’s orders, to have sentenced an innocent young man to what you went through.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, like he was confused.

“I did, actually, think of you as a son, and that alone makes the betrayal warrant death. Despite what you must have gone through already, you showed up at our house as a cheerful boy, willing to put up with my fascination with muggles and the muggle world, patiently explaining things to me. I sacrificed my son in spirit for those of blood, and let my wife browbeat me into agreeing to everything.

“So I’m not going to protest what you do to me. I deserve it, because I’m an adult who should be able to think for himself, and stand up against what he knows is wrong. I’m sorry, and I offer my sincere apology for my actions, and I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem to give with as much dignity as I can still muster. I am a weak man, but I can hope to meet my death with some measure of self-respect intact.”

Voldemort was puzzled at his mate’s lack of response until he saw Harry nearly stagger back, sitting down in his chair heavily. A lone tear had escaped his shining eyes, quickly followed by a second. “Tom, what do I do?” Harry whispered.


	17. Arthur & Molly Weasley

Before Voldemort could really react Molly was saying in as sharp a tone as she could manage, “Arthur, you spineless fool! Don’t you dare give this despicable creature any reason to think you regret your actions. I knew I was right to have misgivings all those years. Oh, I wanted to believe you were nothing but a child forced by circumstances into a cruel role. But I _was_ right to think you’re nothing but a foul beast that would bring my family to ruin. Every year it was more of the same, with my poor babies in danger because of _you_. Albus was _right_ to shackle you, you little freak!”

By then Harry was completely distraught, only able to let tears slip down his face. Voldemort surged to his feet and said, “Enough, you stupid cow. Crucio!” She screamed in agony, then burst into loud sobs from the aftereffects once Voldemort released the curse. He quickly slapped her back into a coma, then obliviated her of the past few minutes.

Seconds later he had Harry pulled onto his lap in his own chair, cradling him gently. “Harry, love, please don’t let her upset you like this. It’s only because you cared for her once that she can. Do not let her win.”

Harry didn’t say anything for several minutes, instead soaking his shoulder with tears and trembling in his embrace. Voldemort occasionally shot a fierce glare at Arthur for starting this, though the man just watched them with silent remorse, making no further attempts to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered eventually. “I didn’t think I—that anyone would. . . .”

At some point during his breakdown Harry had reverted to his natural appearance again, and fit quite comfortably on Voldemort’s lap. “Sincerely repent?” he suggested gently, stroking his mate’s hair and neck.

“Yeah.” Harry sat back a bit and presented him with a teary countenance. “Does he . . . really mean it?”

“You know I can tell when people are being untruthful. Yes, he does.”

Harry looked off to the side for a moment, another tear escaping, then said, “I don’t know what to do, Tom. I can’t let him live, but. . . .”

Voldemort nodded. “You can, however, give him a merciful death should you choose.” His mate pressed in close again so he held him, stroking his hair soothingly. Another few minutes went by before Harry pulled away and slid off his lap, then wiped at his face and took his own seat.

“You are going to die,” Harry said quietly.

Arthur nodded.

“But before you do, I think I ought to tell you a few things. Ginny isn’t dead. She is presently in an induced coma, much like your wife is at the moment, waiting until Neville Longbottom is cured of the drug addiction Dumbledore forced on him. Once that’s done, they’ll both be leaving the country and starting a new life at my expense.”

A faint look of hope touched Arthur’s eyes, but he remained silent.

“Bill and Charlie are also alive. What you saw were constructs, not them. I know they weren’t a part of any of this, so I’ve not gone after them. I used their likenesses to hurt you, that’s all. It is true, however, that Percy is well on his way to becoming a rather mindless creature.”

And then Arthur did speak. “Did he really. . . ?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, he did, and was. Percy was very afraid of losing his job. You may recall a conversation you had with him once, about how the minister might be using him? Well, suffice to say, Percy truly did glory in the idea of servicing that man in order to retain his job, and what little power he had personally. His role in my slavery was peripheral, so I won’t kill him, though you might think it would be kinder if I did.

“As for Ron, well, he is dead. The man seen running about causing trouble was not your son, it was me. He died the same night Hermione did, and yes, that was really her body. In any case, Ron never joined Lord Voldemort as we implied.” He paused, then added, “Is there anything you want to say before. . . ?”

Arthur heaved a sigh and said, “Thank you for explaining, and I think I can guess why Ron has died. I can’t take back what I’ve done, Harry, and no amount of apology will ever make my choices right or erase them, but I am sorry.”

Harry nodded and raised his wand, but before he could cast anything Arthur spoke again, having turned his head toward Voldemort. “Please take care of him. You’re all he has.”

Voldemort tilted his head to the side and arched a brow, slightly suspicious despite knowing the man was sincere, then nodded.

“Avada Kedavra,” said Harry, without fanfare.

Voldemort was not the least bit surprised that Arthur’s lifeless face showed only peace, not fear. “Harry?” he said, turning to look at his mate.

Harry was tearing up again, but managed to say, “I think I need to take a break.”

“Then you shall. Go ahead on up to the office and let me cast a few spells here to keep things in order, and I will join you in just a minute, all right?”

Harry nodded and rose, heading off toward the stair silently.

Voldemort waited until his mate disappeared, spelled Arthur’s corpse into stasis, then cast an area spell to force everything to maintain its present condition. He did not want Harry to continue things later and have Molly Weasley realize a huge time gap had occurred due to a change in the intensity of odors or anything else that might be taken as a sign. He also took the time to place a barrier of sorts outside Percy’s cell to protect him from the already befouled atmosphere.

Once upstairs he pulled Harry to him and stroked his hair. “If you wish to go home and come back to this later, we can. She will certainly keep for some time.” His mate sort of nodded against him so he summoned a cloak over, one with a hood, and helped Harry into it, then led him back to the house and up to their bedroom.

Harry undressed rather slowly, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he asked, shedding his own clothing in favor of a simple robe.

“I didn’t mean to fall apart again.” Harry gave him a sad look.

Voldemort shook his head and took a seat as well. “That only proves they did not destroy you, nor did you destroy yourself. You still have a heart. And, Harry, the only thing you should ever apologize to me for is if you step on my foot or burn something you cook for me—things like that.”

Harry was startled into laughter, his expression lightening considerably. “I feel kind of silly, I guess. I’m a dark lord for pity’s sake. I shouldn’t be crying at the drop of a hat, and certainly not in front of the damn victims.”

He reached out to grasp Harry’s chin and turn his head to face him. “Don’t be daft. These were extraordinary circumstances, and I am the last person who would think to criticize or remonstrate. And don’t you dare try to protest and remind me that I am a fellow dark lord.”

Harry surprised him completely by saying, “You love me?”

Voldemort caressed the side of his mate’s face with his thumb and nodded. “It’s your fault entirely that I remembered I actually had a heart, Harry. And I don’t want to hear any complaints that I’ve fallen in love with you, all right? You’ll simply have to learn to live with the fact that nowhere does it explicitly state that we dark lords cannot have feelings.”

His mate gave him a sweet smile. “If you say so, I’ll believe it. You don’t lie, and though you are kind about it, you don’t hesitate to tell me when I’m being an ass.”

“I don’t lie, to you,” Voldemort affirmed.

“I think . . . I might finally be able to believe in love, and believe that what I feel for you really is love.”

Voldemort barely prevented a fatuous smile from exploding across his face. He spent a brief moment berating himself mentally for feeling almost girly again, then leaned in to give Harry a gentle kiss before releasing his chin. “Maybe I should fetch myself a light snack and we can just laze about for the rest of the evening pretending to be shiftless ne’er-do-wells.”

Apparently, that was not entirely the right thing to say, as Harry frowned at him. “A snack? You’ve not eaten in hours and you’re talking about a damn snack? Wine does not count as food, Tom!” Harry pushed off the bed and hauled Voldemort up, then dragged him off to the kitchens.

The next thing he knew Voldemort was being pushed into a chair at the table with an accompanying baleful stare, then Harry was off rummaging in the supply cabinet and tossing things onto the counter almost haphazardly. Within minutes he was presented with a salad and a glass of juice to start him off, along with another fierce look before his mate went back to cooking with a vengeance. Voldemort chose not to complain of his treatment. If it made Harry feel better to take care of him and helped him regain his equilibrium, so be it, and besides, his cooking was divine.

A bit later he was presented with . . . well, he wasn’t sure, actually. The confusion must have shown on his face as Harry piped up, “It’s Thai. Vegetables, chicken, and a combination of oyster and garlic sauces. Rice if you want it.”

Voldemort decided not to inquire as to where some of the ingredients had come from. He could only assume Harry had been sneaking things into the house when he had not been paying attention. A fork was shoved into his hand a second later, so he began to eat, quickly falling in love with the dish and giving his mate a look of appreciation and approval.

“I knew you’d like it,” Harry said with a hint of smug pride.

“I wouldn’t dream of doubting your choices when it comes to cooking, my sweet,” he said diplomatically.

Harry snorted, but chose to backtrack rather than comment directly. “I am sorry, really. I know you don’t mind, I do, but I dislike when I fall apart as much as I like how well you take care of me. So, thank you, too.” He bit his lip, glaring when his lover paused in his eating, then said, “Mm, I really had fun dueling with you, even if it was just pretend. Do you think there’d be value in doing so in front of our people?”

Voldemort had another bite, absently savoring the taste while he pondered. It might well be interesting to have a real duel in front of the Death Eaters, just to remind them that it wasn’t just Lord Thanatos that was skilled in the arts of fighting. Granted, he could admit to himself that Harry was actually better than he, but then he had not been trained so brutally, nor so specifically.

“I suppose Molly can wait until tomorrow. Besides, I’ve had an idea just now and I’ll need to arrange for it anyway.”

He looked up and nodded, then forked up more of his meal, a part of his mind wandering slightly even as he took in what Harry was saying, and wondering how exactly his mate planned to capture the white king. After all, with the possible exception of Cornelius Fudge, Harry’s list was just about finished aside from that particular thorn in their sides. Anyone important, anyway. And that made him wonder just what they would be doing once Dumbledore was dead.

“I know that look,” Harry said suddenly. “You’re thinking about Dumblefuck again.”

“Sort of,” he dared to say, then immediately filled his fork again.

“What? After?” When Voldemort nodded Harry said, “Oh. Well, like I said, I don’t care if we stay, but I suppose if we did, we ought to have some idea how to go about things. Like . . . tearing the Ministry down and building it back up as something that made sense. Speaking of which, are there any laws on the books regarding incubi?”

Voldemort blinked, and after a moment, shrugged.

Harry sighed, then brightened as his lover finished up his meal. He leapt to his feet and whisked away the dishes, setting them in the sink before slinking back over to perch on the edge of the table and lean back slightly.

“I will have someone bring back a complete list of all current laws in effect, Harry.” He paused, giving his mate a once over, then smiled slightly. “I think it’s time for my dessert, love, and your dinner, don’t you?”

Harry licked his lips and shifted, spreading his legs apart and reaching down with one hand to fondle his cock as his other went back to brace himself. Voldemort stood up quickly and pushed his chair over, then sat back down, right between his mate’s legs. A second later he gently removed Harry’s hand and pushed it away, urging him to lie back on the table. He began his so-called dessert by sliding his hands along his mate’s thighs and gliding his tongue along to follow one, licking his way up Harry’s inner thigh and just barely brushing against his scrotum before heading back down to nibble at the side of his mate’s knee.

He spent quite some time on that alone, feasting on the soft flesh presented to him at either side, before gently pushing his mate’s legs up and bracing the backs of Harry’s thighs against his palms. Voldemort ducked his head in order to tongue-fuck his mate’s anus, then slowly worked upward, pausing for some time to give Harry’s scrotum due attention, rolling those soft globes around in his mouth.

Harry, of course, was writhing around on the table making all sorts of delicious noises, and had even taken to fondling and pinching his own nipples, his head tossing back and forth restlessly. Voldemort gently lowered his mate’s legs and scooted his chair forward to begin sliding his tongue along Harry’s cock, pausing to lick away the already seeping fluids, then engulfing him.

Harry arched up off the table with a particularly loud moan and slid a hand down his chest to his stomach, which Voldemort promptly took with his own, threading his fingers into his mate’s. And while he had not initially intended to, Voldemort found himself working his mate’s cock with a mind toward orgasm, becoming quite enamored of the idea of being able to take him shortly at as easy of a rhythm as he wished while Harry recovered for round two.

It was, after all, quite rare that he was able to make love to Harry for any length of time; his mate’s charms tended to urge him toward completion much more quickly than he might like. So he used his tongue to excellent effect as he fellated his mate, slipping several fingers of his free hand into his ass to further stimulate him. And when Harry did lose control, Voldemort felt almost as though his fingers were going to be broken given how strong his mate’s grip was.

Voldemort milked Harry dry, then laved him clean with his tongue, only then rising and pushing back his chair so he could position the head of his penis and sheath himself smoothly. A glance at his mate showed that Harry was completely blissed out, but still responding, his brief slackening of movement picking back up with every stroke Voldemort made. By then he was fairly certain Harry had done no permanent damage to his hand.

And yes, for these blessed moments, Voldemort was able to indulge himself for the first time in a while, setting a pace that would allow him to draw out the encounter until he was good and ready to seek completion. Then he almost groaned with something other than pure pleasure when he realized that Harry’s cock was stiffening again so quickly, but could not bring himself to be upset.

Much sooner than he would have preferred he was aggressively thrusting into his beloved while stroking his mate’s cock, one hand still bound up with Harry’s, and Harry, still quite young and able (and possibly simply because of his nature) exploded a second time, arching and bucking off the table to the sound of Voldemort’s encouragement. And then, he came as well, tightly holding his mate’s hand to steady himself against suddenly weak knees and briefly failing vision.

* * *

“Nothing to say, Arthur?” Harry inquired solicitously, then shook his head regretfully. “I see not. Well, in that case, I suppose we should move on, eh? And since you can’t be bothered to say anything, you’re the next to go, my darling surrogate parent.”

Voldemort thought the golem his mate had altered looked just like the man, so it should certainly be good enough for what Harry had in mind. And on that note, Harry aimed his wand at Molly and clearly intoned, “Imperio.” Her expression went from sullenly tearful to vacuous, and then she blew him a kiss.

Harry smirked and nodded, clearly feeling much better about things in general, and released her from her bindings. While she was picking herself up from the floor he slipped a blade from a sheath strapped to his thigh and levitated it toward her. She took it as soon as it was in reach so Harry stepped back and sat down in his chair.

Molly turned toward her husband and advanced, proceeded to yank down his ragged trousers and castrate him, then toss the testicles aside where they hit the floor with a dull thud.

“That’s what I like about the imperius curse,” Harry commented. “They might have that nice floaty feeling, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t aware of their actions. And anyway, she’d already emasculated him in spirit, so why not for real?”

Molly then began stabbing her husband repeatedly, outwardly oblivious to his cries and grunts of pain, sticking him like a pig that needed tenderizing, or as though she were reenacting a scene from Psycho.

“And look,” he continued. “Now, this is a woman who was such a matriarch, ran her household with quite nearly an iron fist wrapped in velvet, so you’d think she would have an iron will to go with it. But. . . ? Obviously not. Why, I bet the aware part of her mind is screaming right about now and recoiling in horror at these evil things I’m forcing her to do.”

She faltered slightly, which made Harry grin, then resumed her orders, working her way up his legs and to his stomach. She plunged the knife deeper there as she struck, wrenching the blade up and down each time, then proceeded to carve the word ‘weak’ into his chest before plunging the blade into his heart a few times. The last thing she did was place the tip under his chin, then bash it in using her fisted free hand as a hammer.

Harry tilted his head from side to side a few times, then directed her to step back. A potion vial was floated over to her, and she took it, knocking it back quickly. It took less than a minute for her to collapse to the floor. “Brilliant!” Harry said. “And now you’re paralyzed, Molly mum, and free of that nasty curse. You even fell just the right way. You’ve got a lovely view of your husband like that, now don’t you.”

He turned to Voldemort and said, “It’s almost a shame, her age. If she were younger I could have sold her off as prime pure-blood breeding stock, though she is a bit on the hefty side. Really, I know that producing sprogs has one gaining weight, but I don’t understand why she’s never bothered to regain her youthful figure.”

“Bastard,” she managed to force out.

“No, I’m afraid not. I have it on good authority that my parents were actually married, Molly mum,” Harry said good-naturedly.

“You forced me to kill my husband,” she tried to shout, the paralyzation potion preventing her from inhaling deeply enough to manage it properly.

“Yes, and that just goes to show how weak willed you really are. You put up a good front, though, obviously, but faking it doesn’t cut the mustard in situations like these. Poor Molly mum, her worst fear come to life, and she helped! Her entire family is dead. And do you know what?

“Should it come to pass that the media found out about you stabbing poor Arthur like a demented psycho, the minister might not bother to worry about a trial. After all, you already have two sons who’ve gone to the Dark Lord. It’s not such a stretch for people to believe you did, too. I also bet a Dark Mark on your arm would be very convincing to Fudge.”

“Dumbledore will make you pay for this.”

Harry laughed. “He’s already made me pay, Molly mum. I’ll give him a fair return on that investment, believe you me. You know, it really hurts that you all thought I was so incredibly brainless, and so easily subdued. Dumblefuck should have paid more attention the day I confided that the sorting hat wanted me in Slytherin.”

“I’ll haunt you,” she threatened, “for the rest of your miserable life.”

Harry laughed again. “No, I don’t think so. You see, it isn’t just the Ministry that knows how to confine a ghost to certain places, so should you make the mistake of trying to become one at your death, I’ll be very sure to find you a nice place to haunt, a place where you can’t be a bother to anyone, and in fact, will drift around until the end of time alone, unwanted, and unable to spew your lies and hatred. So, if you’d like a forever of sheer, impotent boredom, be my guest.

“You know, I wonder. You lot got quite a bit of my money, too. I wonder if I could put forth a claim and seize the Burrow based on that. I used to think it was such a wonderful home, so magical and cozy, but now I’m thinking it would be more fun to burn it to the ground. Perhaps I could bury you all there?” Harry shook his head and flicked his wand, levitating her off the floor, then rose and re-secured her onto the rack.

“If it weren’t for the fact that I bear a very personal grudge against you, Molly mum, I would ask Lord Voldemort to allow his dear friend Antonin Dolohov to come visit you and play. After all, that man killed your brothers, so he might find it to be highly amusing and satisfying to complete the set. Still, I think I’ll reserve that task for myself.

“And since I hold you in such contempt, I’m going to do something to you that most magical persons would consider to be unforgivable, and I’m not referring to a spell, Molly mum. I’m going to do something to justify your thoughts, something loathsome, despicable, and something that shows my utter lack of regard for you as a person.” Harry summoned over rather a lot of wood and began stacking it around the base of her rack, absently commenting as he worked, “Consider it a preview of hell.”

And when he was finished Harry cast incendio with a nasty grin and resumed his seat. “It’s almost a shame,” he said as flames began to lick at her ankles, “that I gave you that potion. We shan’t be able to see you struggle as you’re consumed by fire. Oh, that reminds me.” Harry cast another two spells, this time to prevent death by smoke inhalation or shock.

It took . . . a while for her to die, her cries of pain echoing throughout the dungeon. Harry was able to quietly cast a spell to protect him from the sickening stench of burning flesh given that she was so handily distracted. And when she was finally gone he waited quite some time before he did anything, then turned to Voldemort and said, “If you would like to put the body in stasis—what’s left of it, anyway—and see about making sure if she pops up as a ghost that she’ll not go anywhere, I’ll see to cleaning up.”

* * *

Moony was delighted to have a new friend. Harry delivered Percy to him late one evening and after updating a few things sat down to explain the new arrangements. “Moony, Weatherby here is your bitch. He will obey you in all things, I’ve made sure of it. He doesn’t exactly belong to you, but that will come more into play later on, after I’m sure he’s adjusted to his new home.

“Now, you have my permission to play with him as much as you’d like right now, with one glaring exception. You are not to order, ask, or allow Weatherby to fuck you. He can suck your cock, you can suck his, and you can fuck him, but he isn’t allowed to fuck you. He’s the bitch. Are we clear so far?”

“Yes, master,” said Moony softly.

“Good. For the time being there’s no limitation insofar as time goes, but once I open up this park to visitors, you will understand that Weatherby is off limits to your advances until nightfall. During the day he’ll be bitch for any Death Eater who wishes to play with him, all right?”

Moony nodded, casting a rather lustful look Percy’s way. Harry rather thought that his pet didn’t need to find his new plaything attractive, just willing, and he was obviously dying to get laid again given how long it had been since his last reward.

“Obviously, if _you_ would like to be fucked, you’d have to see if a Death Eater was willing to oblige you, not Weatherby. Either that or you’d need to continue using that toy I so thoughtfully provided.”

Moony looked slightly disconcerted, but nodded his understanding.

“Unlike you, Moony, Weatherby doesn’t have a choice along those lines. He will submit to anyone and his entire existence revolves around providing sexual pleasure to others. You must ask to be fucked, so if you don’t want someone burying their cock in your ass, that’s perfectly all right. I told you before I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, and I meant it.”

Moony shifted a bit and tilted his head. “Why is he like this?”

Harry smiled and reached out to stroke Moony’s hair briefly, almost affectionately. “Because, pet, he likes it. He spent years being Fudge’s bitch of his own free will, and reveled in it, enjoyed being used and ordered around. And while he helped me along the path to enslavement, it wasn’t directly, so I see no reason to actually kill him. If you don’t wish to play with him, that’s your choice. It’s not like I’m going to force you to.

“He only answers to Weatherby, and he can’t speak any longer. He seems to have forgotten how,” Harry said with a smirk. “Also, I am counting on you to make sure he gets enough sleep at night, eats properly, and so forth. If he gets out of line you may cuff him, and if necessary, knock him out, but I expect you’ll let me know if anything has happened when I come each day to visit, or if you suspect there’s a problem of any kind.”

“I will,” Moony assured him, then glanced at Percy and licked his lips.

“You know, if you want to play with him now, go ahead.”

Moony did not need to have his arm twisted. He had Percy pinned to the ground almost immediately, asserting his dominance with strength, then straddled his chest and growled, “Suck me.”

Percy eagerly complied, beginning to fellate him with what looked like a fair amount of skill as Moony lurched forward to hover over him on all fours and rock his hips. Harry absently noted that his pet seemed to be filling out nicely and had developed the start of a nice tan from his daily (though protected) exposure to the sun.

Only a few minutes had gone by when Moony pulled away and nudged Percy to roll over so that he might fuck him senseless. And then he paused, looking at Harry with quite a bit of uncertainty.

“All you need to do is touch his collar and say ‘prepare’ for him to be ready, pet,” Harry said, answering the unspoken question. “A nifty little enchantment if I do say so myself.”

Moony gave him a faint smile and turned back, set the head of his cock at Percy’s anus, then reached up with one hand to do just that before pushing forward slowly and covering Percy’s back with his chest. When Harry did leave a short time later, a very sated Moony was curled up around Percy, who seemed quite content himself.

* * *

They were at, for lack of a better term, a party, though it might be more accurate to say revel, as there was an entertainment portion scheduled for a bit later in the evening. Voldemort might have been bored senseless were it not for the fact that he and Harry were presently secluded in an alcove, hidden from view by extravagant curtains and a few spells, and his beloved was on his knees having a snack.

It was all Voldemort could do to stay upright against the onslaught of Harry’s tongue and fingers, which were currently coaxing him along handily toward an explosive culmination. And were he the type, being discovered might have been cause for embarrassment given that his trousers were puddled around his ankles. However, the idea of anyone breaking past his spell work was laughable, so he could enjoy both the ministrations of his beloved and the knowledge that they were being extremely naughty with hundreds of people within hearing distance.

It was one of those times when he felt like he must have done _something_ right in his life to have such a loving, loyal, and trustworthy mate at his side. He could probably fill several parchments with complimentary adjectives to describe Harry, but that thought went clean out of his head when climax claimed him, his knees turning to butter in a heartbeat.

A minute or so later, after fixing Voldemort’s clothing, Harry rose up with a slight grin and kissed him on the corner of his mouth softly. “You taste even better now that I’ve begun cooking for you,” he whispered.

Voldemort might have responded to that, but voices filtered in from the next alcove over, an oddity to be sure, as anyone with any sense would have erected privacy charms. Harry turned his head, then tilted it like a bird.

“Uncle Sev,” they heard. “How could he have possibly been captured and tortured like that? I still don’t understand it.”

Harry looked at him and arched a brow, then mouthed, “Draco?”

Voldemort nodded as another voice, this one dull and ponderous, said, “I dunno.”

Harry rolled his eyes and cuddled up to his lover, and Voldemort gladly wrapped his arms around his mate and kissed the top of his head.

“Our lord hasn’t said a word, and I thought Sev was really important. And for that matter, what about our master Lord Thanatos? He’s not human, he can’t be.”

“Cold,” a third voice said.

“Yes, bloody cold. Is it even possible to cross a human with a damn dementor?” Draco said. Then a snort followed by, “Right, why do I even bother. It’s not like either of you two have the brains to hold a decent conversation. Merlin, where did our lord find that man? There’s no possible way he’s a normal wizard.”

The clearing of a throat was heard and the sound of people shuffling, then a harsh voice. “Draco, you are a fool to bring this up again, especially where any imbecile could overhear. You risk losing your life over base curiosity, and it is not your place to question either of our masters for any reason. I will not hear of it!”

“But, father,” Draco whined, obviously not all that worried about lurkers.

“No, Draco. You will not raise this issue again, here, at the compound, or anywhere else for that matter. I cannot believe you would take such risks. Are you so eager to die?”

Voldemort heaved a sigh and looked at Harry, who was sporting a malicious look, then removed the spell work from their alcove and slipped out, his mate right behind him. Two steps brought them to the next and the curtain was whipped aside rather dramatically. “Any imbecile?” Voldemort inquired archly.

Two of the four occupants paled drastically and prostrated themselves, the dullards following their lead a few heartbeats later, and Voldemort could tell that Harry was employing inverse thrall when at least one of them whimpered.

“What have we here?” Harry said in that creepy dead tone he reserved for special occasions, coming to stand at Voldemort’s side. “Four little minions discussing things they ought to know better than to talk about, not to mention being foolish enough to forget to secure their privacy? Tsk, tsk, gentlemen.”

Voldemort rather thought that Lucius was torn between slitting his own throat and strangling his son judging by the way his hands kept clenching. “Crabbe, Goyle, get out,” he ordered, then waited until they lumbered off. “Lucius, you will attend me in my office tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And you, Draco Malfoy. . . . I will have to think up something very special for you by way of punishment. For the moment, however, I think you need to curb that tongue of yours.” Harry whipped out his wand and shot a spell at Draco that was quickly followed up by crucio for two minutes. “You will report each day to my office, Draco Malfoy, once your duties at the training facility are complete. And since you can’t speak, you can show your understanding by touching that lovely forehead of yours to the floor whenever you might be moved to respond. Are we clear?”

Draco instantly did that, raising his head a second later, but not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.

“Splendid. In that case, what say we all amuse ourselves with this evening’s entertainment?”

“An excellent suggestion, cosire,” Voldemort said, then turned and entered the ballroom proper, striding gracefully toward the throne-like chair set aside for him. Harry joined him shortly, taking his own seat, and Lucius appeared and snapped his fingers.

A squad of Death Eaters rushed off, returning a few minutes later with a string of captives, something that Voldemort noticed caught his beloved’s attention rather keenly.

“Sturgis Podmore,” Harry said quietly. “He is mine.”

* * *

Associated Snapshot: [Indiscreet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205229)


	18. Sturgis Podmore

Sturgis Podmore, a man who had been sentenced to Azkaban for six months after having been forced to try to get the prophecy sphere. Voldemort knew from his investigation of Moody’s mind, and therefore Harry too, that Podmore had become embittered by his imprisonment, eventually placing the blame on Harry rather than where it belonged, either Dumbledore or Voldemort himself. His mate had every reason to wish to kill him personally.

Harry snapped his fingers; Lucius hastened over a second later. “My lord?”

“You will reserve that male with the straw-coloured hair,” Harry said quietly, “the one at the far left.”

Voldemort added, “And the one next to him.”

“Yes, my lords,” Lucius said, then bowed and strode toward the squad. Within a few moments one of the men had separated those two victims out and caused them to stand off to the side, with him behind as guard.

That having been taken care of Harry said to those assembled, “Given that there are a dozen lives here to be taken, the top twelve from our review process shall have the delightful opportunity to play with them and show us all just how creative they can be. Those people are. . . .” Harry reeled off a list of names, of which Lucius was one, then said, “If any of those named would like to gift their plaything to another, that is acceptable.”

Then he turned and murmured to Voldemort, “Should we go first, or let them?”

“Custom normally dictates that we go first, but you can do whatever you damn well please,” Voldemort murmured back.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, then turned back to face the assembly. “Lucius, bring my chosen to the center,” he ordered, and waited until the man had complied before pushing up from his chair and approaching, his scythe appearing in his right hand while the left gained a wand. Then he cast the imperius curse, watching impassively as his victim quickly stripped, revealing his somewhat flabby body to the amused Death Eaters.

Harry twisted his scythe and swung it in an arc, shattering Podmore’s shin and causing him to collapse to the ground, then put away his wand. “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, then bashed the handle into the man’s other shin, shattering that as well, and causing Podmore to howl with pain. “And now, unless you feel up to dragging yourself off in a desperate attempt to escape, you’re not going anywhere, my plump little pigeon.”

The next bones to be shattered were those in Podmore’s left arm, followed by his right. “Oh, too late,” Harry said with mock regret, then jammed the butt of the scythe into the man’s chest, breaking at least one rib. Podmore’s breathing became very labored at that point, so Harry shook out a wand and cast several spells on him, then used it to heat the blade of his scythe until it glowed red; the wand disappeared again.

“You’re just as weak-willed now as you were then, darling. How quaint. Well, let us see just how much noise you can manage now, or if you have the brains and fortitude to remain quiet.” Harry swung his scythe again, almost like a pendulum, and sliced off the man’s right foot, scoring the floor deeply as he did so. Podmore let out a strangled howl, then seemed to seize up, his arms trying to move to his chest but unable to do so.

“Oh dear, I’ve damaged the floor. Terribly sorry, Lucius. Be a good fellow and levitate our friend here a bit so that won’t happen again. I shouldn’t like to dull my weapon so quickly, either.”

Lucius obeyed with celerity, and Podmore was shortly hovering a few inches above the ground.

Harry nodded his approval, then swung again, slicing off more of the man’s leg above his initial cut, the heated blade cauterizing the wound again. He took his time, slicing away until he was only a few inches below where the man’s thigh joined his torso, then started in on the other leg. He had quite a pile of cross-sections by the time he had them both removed.

“Hm, I don’t suppose you’ll ever walk again. How sad, darling.” By then Harry was forced to reapply the heating charm to his blade; that last cut was bleeding sluggishly. And of course, Podmore had been reduced to a not-quite state of shock, unable to do more than jerk in place and moan each time Harry sliced off another section of his limb.

The arms were next, Harry working quite methodically with a look of concentration on his face. When he paused he gave Podmore an intense look, taking in the tears streaking out of the man’s eyes to fall off to either side and puddle on the floor. “I really must wonder. Tell me, pigeon, is your master aware of me yet?” When Podmore didn’t respond immediately Harry nudged him with the butt of his scythe. “I don’t think you’d appreciate the cruciatus in your condition, so perhaps you’ll answer me.”

“Yes,” Podmore gasped.

“Yes what?” Harry said impatiently, nudging him again.

“He knows of you,” Podmore forced out.

“And does he know my name?”

“Thanatos.”

“That’s Lord Thanatos, pigeon,” Harry snarled, then bashed Podmore in the ribs, cracking more bones. “Well, well, well. Interesting. In that case, I don’t need to concern myself with keeping you alive. I was considering sending you back, still alive, with all your bits and pieces and a nice note. But if your master is already aware of me. . . .” Harry positioned himself and readied his scythe, then swung it so fast and forcefully that it whistled before it bit into the man’s flesh and sliced him clean in half from crotch to head.

Podmore fell apart and hit the floor, Lucius’s spell no longer able to keep him aloft under the circumstances. “Brilliant,” Harry murmured. “Lucius, get someone to box up this mess. I might decide to send it back later anyway.” Then he turned and slinked back to his chair, the scythe disappearing, and took a seat.

“You have way too much fun with that toy,” Voldemort murmured teasingly, causing Harry to give him an amused look.

“It was your suggestion,” Harry murmured back.

Voldemort smiled at him, then barked, “Lucius!”

“Yes, my lord,” was heard as Lucius signaled for the other victim to be brought forth.

Voldemort did not bother to rise. Instead, he lazily produced a wand and conjured two snakes, hissed at them to wait, then used the imperius to cause the man to strip. Another spell locked him in place, his mouth somewhat open, and then Voldemort hissed instructions to his temporary pets after casting several spells on them for their protection.

They slithered off toward the frozen victim, winding up his legs once they arrived. And while one began to burrow up into the man’s ass, the other continued upward to slide into his mouth and disappear. It did not take long before blood began seeping out of the man’s ass, and dribbling from his mouth.

And it was not much past that that peculiar bulges appeared, distending and distorting the man’s abdomen. Voldemort conjured a third snake, spelled it, then hissed instructions, watching as it spiraled up and went into the victim’s mouth like the second had. That one, however, rather than descending entirely to the man’s stomach, burst out through his throat as the other two managed to rend an opening through his stomach.

Only then did they strike, sinking their fangs into his soft flesh, then slithered down his body and back onto the floor, whereupon Voldemort banished them. The man started shaking and foaming at the mouth within thirty seconds, crashing to the floor to begin convulsing in his own blood, finally stiffening into a grotesquely contorted position of death.

“Lazy sod,” Harry murmured with a smirk, flirting his brows up briefly before licking his lips.

Voldemort felt his cock stir; in all actuality he was beginning to wonder if his rebirth had afforded him any number of advantages over his original body. One would think a seventy-five year old man—even a wizard—would not be so quickly aroused again. A teenager he was not, after all. He waved his hand at Lucius, who immediately ordered someone to clean up the mess.

“They’ll sort themselves out from here,” Voldemort murmured. “We simply watch and appear vaguely interested.”

“I should think the manner by which a person kills another says something about their character. For instance, I have trouble seeing Lucius getting all bloody, whereas I would have to wonder if Goyle might decide to bludgeon someone to death. Speaking of which, we seem to have a loose-lipped minion, cosire.”

Voldemort paused before speaking, appearing to show interest in Lucius’s use of a flagellation curse on his chosen victim, who had been suspended spread-eagled. “It could be any of them,” he murmured. “We would be digging for ages trying to find the culprit. I am more concerned with what connections the man may have drawn.”

“What, you mean like my identity?”

Voldemort nodded and glanced over. “It’s almost even odds between two names, or a possible unknown.”

Harry frowned faintly. “I don’t care now if the one reputation is shot to hell, not really.”

“He is more likely to suspect your secondary,” Voldemort pointed out. “He has no evidence on the primary aside from knowing that he is not dead. What evidence he does have cannot be said to point at him as a culprit.”

“True. Still, I don’t like the fact that someone has been indiscreet. Do we start digging, or do we wait until we have the . . . white king?”

“We attempt to set tails on the white king, and perhaps catch sight of someone meeting with him. Then again, it might simply be rumor passed on to him in a roundabout fashion.” He glanced over to note that Lucius had moved on to flaying his victim from a safe distance.

Harry shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Tails it is, then, with the hope that none of them are the problem.”

Much later, though before they actually returned to the compound, Harry had Lucius produce the boxed-up remains of Podmore. And while Voldemort went ahead and made sure the contents were placed in stasis, Harry dashed off a quick note to go with it.

> ###### DIY Order Member Kit  
>    Easy to assemble!  
>    (Pins not included.)

That was tucked into an envelope, which was then addressed to Albus Dumbledore with a return of Wizarding DIY, 666 Knockturn Alley, and attached to the outside of the box. 

* * *

“Have a seat, Lucius.” After a pause Voldemort said, “Your son may not live for much longer if he’s not careful.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“A shame he is your only heir, really. Should I be concerned that you have managed to raise a son who is so oblivious, Lucius? So . . . foolish? Perhaps I should ask Lord Thanatos to rearrange his thinking patterns.”

Harry listened from his office as he went over training lists and reports, wondering himself just exactly what he should do to punish the Malfoy heir. He could certainly crucio him on a daily basis for a while, but generic pain was not really much of a lesson giver even though a human could make the proper associations.

No, he needed something to make Draco think twice about gossiping like some silly girl. And then a rather malicious smile twisted his lips. Harry rose and slinked into his lover’s office in time to hear, “. . . Ministry laws. You may go.”

Lucius rose, bowed, and left swiftly but quietly.

Harry perched on the edge of the desk and grinned. “I think I know what I’d like to do to our dear Draco. But, I’d like to see what you think of the idea, first.”

“Should we return home for this?”

“Yes, probably. I know you’ve wards up here, but. . . .”

Much later on, just a bit past four in the afternoon, a knock came at Harry’s office door, followed quickly by Draco, who prostrated himself once the door was shut. Harry quietly cast a few spells to ensure their privacy, then said, “So, Draco Malfoy, you seem to have far too many questions. That would not be something I particularly cared about were it not for the fact that your tongue wags at very inopportune times.

“I am going to share a little something with you. Several things, in fact, in the hopes that this will give you the proper motivation. After all, I’ve no doubt your father will be quite annoyed at having to beget a new heir should you cross the line again and have to be killed. Unlike a certain personage who walks in Light, I am not inclined to give endless second chances.

“What you shall see today should get that fact straight in your mind. So, Draco Malfoy, do stand up and approach my desk,” he ordered, and gave a half smirk when his erstwhile rival did so, then took a moment to release him from the spell that kept him silent. Harry opened a drawer and withdrew a pensieve, placed it on his desk, then touched his wand to his temple and removed a memory.

He had, with Voldemort’s help, managed to watch a copy of his final encounter with Severus Snape (starting from just prior to Snape’s awakening and ending before they left the dungeon), then produce a copy of that experience. Testing revealed that he appeared in it twice, once as Harry Potter, and once as Lord Thanatos, and the entire time he had stayed in the shadows, next to where Voldemort had watched from.

The silvery strand went into the pensieve and Harry gestured at it casually. “Within you will find _one_ of your answers. Enter, Malfoy.”

And Draco did, emerging some time later with very wide eyes. Harry simply sat there waiting to see if the man was smart enough to figure things out, even with the added obfuscating factor. He didn’t at first, murmuring incredulously, “Potty killed Uncle Sev?” That was shortly followed by, “But then our lord—? Feed? But—” Draco looked up at him almost fearfully.

Harry arched a brow and flipped back some of his hair, then said, “There are none so important among your number that they cannot be killed, Draco Malfoy, and traitors do not deserve to live, wouldn’t you agree? Betrayal is something that should be dealt with as promptly as possible. Dark lords do not take kindly to their people seeking to play both sides of the chess board.”

He retrieved the memory and put the pensieve away, not entirely surprised that Malfoy was still in the dark. A portkey was produced next; Harry rose and twirled his wand between his fingers, then stepped around the desk. “We shall move on to your next object lesson, Malfoy,” he said, holding out a dog collar with a faint smile.

Draco touched it, instigating their removal to Moony’s park. He landed fairly gracefully, but that was to be expected of a Malfoy, right? “Keep a firm grip on that tongue, Malfoy,” Harry warned, then tucked the collar into his pocket and called out, “Weatherby!”

A head popped up from a lush cluster of long grass; seconds later Percy scrambled over and plopped down in front of Harry, then barked. “Hello, Weatherby. Have you been a good boy today?”

“He has,” came a soft voice from off to the side.

Harry turned and smiled; Lupin was just exiting the dog house. “All right, Moony. You may stay or go back to what you were doing, it makes no difference to me.”

Moony nodded and sat not far away, obviously curious.

Harry turned to Draco, who looked to be on the verge of doing something undignified, like gaping unattractively. “Weatherby here is an example of what can happen to those who annoy me greatly, Draco Malfoy,” he said in that dead tone. “You might think it a shame were it to happen to you, though Weatherby is very happy with his present lot in life, being the bitch of my admittedly small kennel. So, you can see what may befall you should you decide not to guard that wicked little tongue of yours in the future. As it is, I already have one of brown and red. If I added you I’d have blond, and need only black to complete my set.”

Malfoy looked at him, eyes wider than normal, then took a step back. “You’re—you would, wouldn’t you?”

Harry had his former rival pinned to a tree by the throat within seconds, his face up close and personal. “You forget yourself, Malfoy.”

“My lord,” Draco whispered, flicking his gaze away briefly.

“Better, Malfoy. No matter what thoughts might be swirling around in that head of yours, you should never forget that I am your master, and deserve your respect. But to answer your question, trust me when I say I would have no qualms about giving you to Moony for a week if the whim struck, nor would I suffer any distress in killing you.”

“You’re . . . him. You . . . killed Sev, my lord?”

Harry laughed softly and released his prey, stepping back several paces as Malfoy rubbed his throat gingerly. “So, you are not so stupid after all. I wondered if you would figure it out. Perhaps there is hope for you yet, peacock. To answer your other question, no, I am not fully human.” And just when Malfoy was beginning to relax, even slightly, Harry stunned him.

“It must suck,” Harry drawled, “to have come to certain realizations, and to understand just exactly who it is you’re dealing with, peacock. Of course, I shall ensure that your tongue will stay firmly in line.” And with that he tucked his wand away and produced a vial instead; that was forced down Malfoy’s throat.

While he was waiting for it to take effect Percy scrambled over and stuck his face into Draco’s crotch and snuffled. Malfoy couldn’t move, but his eyes could certainly express his feelings on the matter, a mixture of horror, indignation, and involuntary arousal. To be sure, a stunner did not prevent the young man’s cock from stiffening in response to Percy’s mostly innocent activities.

“Interesting,” Harry commented, and simply watched as Percy continued to snuffle and push and rub his unprotesting target. He made no move whatsoever to call off the redhead, not until the drugs had taken effect, anyway. And then he did so, and used his wand to arrange Malfoy on the ground and release him from the effects of the stunner.

An hour or more passed as he worked over Draco’s mind, meticulously setting up a reaction trigger. Should Malfoy ever attempt to communicate his knowledge of who Lord Thanatos was, or even how Snape had met his end, he would be forced to endure a memory of being subjected to the cruciatus curse. Speech, writing—charades, even—any attempt would see him writhing in remembered pain. And for that matter, so would attempts to communicate what Harry was actually doing to him, though he did take the time to obliviate the specifics without disarming his little mental trap.

All in all, Harry was feeling quite satisfied by the time he had finished tinkering with Malfoy’s mind. And that meant it was time for the actual punishment. He smiled wickedly as he began transfiguring Draco’s clothing into the mental image he held. The man might be forced to suffer in private, but this would ensure he would suffer in public as well, and certainly not dare to step foot out of the compound until the week had been endured.

As a final step Harry spelled Draco’s hair longer, then called Moony over. “What do you think, pet?”

Moony eyed Malfoy for a while before responding. “Why this?”

Harry smiled and reached over to ruffle Moony’s hair. “Because, pet, he’s been acting like a gossipy girl. I decided he may as well look like one, too, at least for a week. An approximation, anyway.”

Draco looked, to all accounts, like he had stepped out of the realm of hentai. His pleated skirt was quite short, barely long enough to cover the essentials, his socks were knee high and almost sheer, and his shoes were of a style referred to as Mary Janes. His pants were thin white cotton, his short-sleeved shirt crisp and white, and his tie was a striking shade of green that matched his skirt.

And best of all, Malfoy couldn’t reverse or remove any of it. Harry had added charms to keep everything looking perfect, even after being slept in. The only thing he would be able to do was drop his pants in order to use the toilet.

Draco slowly came to full awareness on being released from his condition, his expression one of growing horror and humiliation, so Harry decided to help him along with a bit of understanding.

“I’m feeling generous, Draco Malfoy, so instead I have simply made you appear to be what you play at already . . . a gossiping girl. Unless, of course, you _would_ like to be Moony’s second bitch for a week?”

Draco swallowed and shook his head violently. “No, my lord.”

Harry smirked and said, “Such a pretty girl you make. Ware your virtue, for I think some of the more lacking Death Eaters may mistake you for a tasty tidbit to wile away an hour with.” He rose to his feet and ordered, “Get up,” then removed the dog collar from his pocket; a tap of his wand reset the destination. Harry held it out without speaking and Malfoy touched it after a moment.

“Do not bother to report each day,” he instructed. “You will return to me at the end of a week’s time instead. I’m sure the intervening hours will do you well in terms of lessoning. You will not leave the compound.” He removed the privacy spells and pointed at the door. “Now get out.”

“Yes, my lord,” Draco said, and Harry had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s face flush red in anticipation of his upcoming public humiliation. Malfoy slipped out, almost reluctantly, and closed the door behind him.

Harry slinked into the adjoining office and grinned at Voldemort, then sidled over to the door and tilted his head in invitation. His lover rose gracefully and followed him out. As they were walking toward the house their attention was caught quite handily.

Draco was shuffling along with his head down, no doubt mortally embarrassed, trying to make it to the barracks without being noticed by too many people. He had not made it far, however, when he was violently pushed up against the wall of a nearby building, and squeaked in a seriously undignified manner. A mouth pressed up against his, and Harry could see the assailant reach down to clamp a hand to Malfoy’s ass and squeeze.

Draco struggled and finally managed to turn his head slightly, then said in a shocked voice, “Goyle?”

Goyle grunted and tried to kiss Draco again, clumsily. “Pretty,” he said, then yanked Draco closer.

Harry was briefly distracted by the sudden scent of brimstone and whipped his head around, wondering what the hell was causing it, and caught the merest flash of flame-red hair disappearing around a corner. He shrugged, then turned back to see Draco desperately trying to push Goyle off, only succeeding in pushing his skirt up higher toward his waist. He stifled his laughter; he had certainly not imagined that one of Malfoy’s cronies would latch onto him in such a manner.

Beside him, Voldemort was shaking slightly, obviously repressing his own amusement at the scene before them. And then Lucius arrived, striding toward the pair with purpose. Whether or not he realized it was his son being accosted was in doubt, but surely that striking shade of blond hair had caught his attention alongside the fact that the owner was clearly not happy to be in that situation.

Goyle was detached with a few sharply spoken words and sent on his way. A mortified Draco was also sent on, but not until Lucius had cast the odd charm over him. And then Lucius approached his two masters rather diffidently.

“Is there a problem?” Voldemort inquired innocently.

“My lords,” Lucius greeted them. “Is this . . . necessary?”

Harry was nearly floored at the gall it must have taken for the man to be so forward, though he took care not to show it. Voldemort looked at him, so he answered, keeping in mind that his lover did allow this man a certain amount of leeway. “Lucius Malfoy, what a shockingly forward question. It is questions like that that brought your adored son to his present condition. However, you have a quality he does not possess, and that is a respectable amount of humility.

“Consider this strike one, Lucius. The consequences of strike two I shall not bother to mention, but know that strike three will result in you needing to beget a new heir.” He cast a meaningful look at the man, arching a brow.

Lucius nodded his acceptance, not that there was much else he could unless he wished to invite pain, bodily harm, or death. “Yes, my lord.”

“I trust you will excuse us, Lucius,” Voldemort said with an edge to his voice. “Further interruption is not welcome.” Then he turned and continued on toward the house.

Harry followed, glad that Voldemort had made it plain in his understated way that the subject was not to be raised again, and entered the house in fairly good humor. He grabbed his lover’s hand and dragged him off to the kitchen, where he provided a decent dinner, then dragged him upstairs for his own.

* * *

Voldemort spend a great deal of time over the following week laughing privately at the younger Malfoy’s fate. Whatever Lucius had done had prevented anyone from trying to force his son, but it did not in the least prevent people from attempting to seduce him. Harry was right; Draco did make for a very pretty pseudo-girl.

And he had also seen evidence that his beloved’s other goal was being met. There was at least once instance where he had witnessed Malfoy going stock still, then begin to shake in a very characteristic manner. Almost as quickly as the incident was over Malfoy made a beeline for the infirmary.

Lucius had delivered up to him a complete listing of every single law in effect within the British wizarding community. Naturally, he had not bothered to state why he wanted the information, not wishing to clue his minion in to his actual goal in terms of knowledge. Harry was very pleased to return to the house with him, a large trunk floating along behind them.

And as much as Voldemort wanted to investigate the laws himself, he was far more interested in appeasing his desire. They never got through the day without at least one round of lovemaking, frequently two or three depending on how active his mate was. He was blessing whatever deities there might be that he could keep up.

Harry was easily persuaded.

Voldemort didn’t bother to go past the front hall. He began undressing his mate on the spot, then shucked off his robes and pressed Harry up against the wall to begin savaging his neck. Without even touching his back his mate melted under his assault, lifting up one leg to wrap around Voldemort’s waist and sliding his hands up under the shirt his lover was still wearing.

“I’m going to take you here,” Voldemort whispered into his beloved’s ear, “up against the wall. I might even decide to remove the charm from the door and its sidelites so that anyone walking by might see in, see us making love.”

Harry moaned loudly and arched, rubbing his cock against his lover’s still clothed body. It was totally beside the point that no one ever came near the front door, probably expecting to be violently thrashed if they dared, or perhaps beheaded. His hands scrabbled around to the front, between them, to work on freeing his lover’s cock from his trousers.

Voldemort licked the edge of Harry’s ear and sucked that delicately pointed tip, then whispered, “That would be horrible, would it not? I could even cast a charm to echo your cries of pleasure to the outside and draw them in by their curiosity. They would all see you writhing in ecstasy at my touch, as I thrust into you, and hear every moan and sharp breath, see the blood trickling from your lip as you tried to be quiet.”

Harry hissed and finally released his lover’s penis from its confines, uncharacteristically awkward due to their positioning. The sound set Voldemort aflame. He sank his teeth into Harry’s neck and reached down to push his mate’s hands away, then wrapped an arm around that raised leg and pulled, drawing Harry’s hips away from the wall a short distance. Another few moments had the head of his cock in position, and he thrust, sheathing himself smoothly.

“You are beautiful, Harry,” he whispered against his mate’s mouth, then kissed him, taking the instant invitation and sliding his tongue within parted lips to taste again that unique essence of his beloved. Harry tried to lift his other leg but Voldemort prevented him, wanting the security it afforded, so Harry twined his arms around his lover’s neck, resting one hand at his nape.

For once Voldemort did not reach between them; he undulated as he thrust into his mate’s warmth, providing a great deal in the way of friction, which Harry seemed to be pleased with judging by the way his body kept contracting and arching. And then he did reach back with his free hand, just barely able to slide his fingers over lower reaches of his mate’s scales, and Harry responded by attacking his mouth with fervor.

It did not take long; he could assume—that is, had he bothered to take the time to wrench his mind around to such consideration—that his words had made Harry so unhinged. His sweet mate was rubbing against him desperately as he came, his mouth slack, so Voldemort kissed the corner of it and across his jaw, even while thrusting almost violently as he began to orgasm himself.

Several minutes later he felt a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek. He lifted his head to see a set of soft emerald eyes staring at him adoringly, and smiled. Then he said teasingly, “I think you love me.”

Harry affected shock, then grinned. “Yes, I think I do.” He glanced quickly toward the door, then back, his eyes sparkling. “You wouldn’t, really.”

Voldemort shook his head. “And deliberately share you, even in such a distant way? Not bloody likely.”

Harry smirked and kissed him quickly. “And now your clothes are all messy. What a shame. I can’t say I feel any regret, though. That’s part of why clothing is such a bother, though I suppose in this case I can be grateful, for they helped me along to be sure.”

Voldemort shook his head slightly and disengaged, casting his gaze down to see Harry’s semen liberally smeared all over his shirt. He trailed one long finger through it, then licked it clean. “Much as I might enjoy your taste, my sweet, this is not an adequate dinner for me. Dare I hope you will cook for me? You know how useless I am in the kitchen.”

Harry eyed him appraisingly. “Well, all right. I suppose I could be persuaded.” Then he dragged Voldemort off toward the kitchen without bothering to clean up.

He was treated to yet another exquisite meal before they both retired upstairs, the briefly forgotten trunk trailing along behind them. Investigation showed that Lucius had divided everything up into categories, and once they found the set pertaining to magical creatures it was excavated from the whole. But before he had a chance to begin reading any of it, Harry diverted him.

“I was going over the schedules earlier and something . . . I don’t know, struck me as being off. I know that not all of the staff lives within the compound, and that’s fine, but. . . . Well, I started to do some comparisons against past behavior when it came to signing in and out. One of the training staff members has changed his patterns. I don’t know if he’s found a bit of fluff on the side or if there’s even anything to be concerned about, but. . . .”

“I can set a tail on this person if you wish,” Voldemort volunteered.

“The tail will have to be very discreet. Remind me the next time we’re in office and I’ll show you the pattern. I’m sure your man would appreciate an idea of when to be on the alert.”

* * *

The next morning Voldemort sat down to have his breakfast and read the paper. Their investigations had turned up a number of interesting laws concerning part-breeds, most of which were designed to limit their rights in whatever way was possible, and that included incubi. Harry had been angry, but not surprised. However, it did reveal that Dumbledore had probably approved his mate’s induced transformation for reasons other than were previously obvious.

Granted, he wasn’t aware of any members of the species in the United Kingdom aside from Harry, but they were restricted from holding any positions within the Ministry. There was also a requirement of registration, much like there was for werewolves. That made him wonder if Dumbledore had done so on Harry’s behalf, or if he had been holding that knowledge as a trump card.

Either way, an incubus was nearly considered property, a bonded one only a little less so. Whoever had drafted the laws seemed to believe that incubi were capable only of living and breathing sex, nearly mindless creatures who lived to seduce and beguile, and therefore required keepers with a strong determination to rigidly control them. He scoffed at the very idea, but realized on reflection that the books did not have information he and his mate did regarding the results of trying to beat an incubus into submission.

Voldemort gave a mental shrug and turned his attention to the Daily Prophet, his toast falling out of his hand in surprise when he read the headline. He couldn’t know why, though it might be true that Harry’s last gift to Dumbledore had angered the man greatly, but there was no denying the fact that a picture of Lord Thanatos was boldly presented on the front page along with a headline revealing his mate’s new name and occupation.

And for a wonder, it had not been Rita Skeeter writing the story.

Harry breezed in and took a seat, giving him a smile as a greeting, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Voldemort passed over the paper for an answer, then watched as his mate’s eyes widened. Harry spent a minute or so scanning the text before looking up, an unfathomable look on his face. “Well, I did say I needed to work on my reputation, now didn’t I. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind, though, and not quite so early. I love how this slides around the issue of my actual name yet manages to imply that I do actually hold a position at the Ministry. I suppose that means Dumblefuck thinks Justus Bane is his new, second enemy.”

“It appears so.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to get really upset if I go out in public as Bane, aren’t you.”

He arched a brow, feeling that words were unnecessary.

“This is really fucking petty of him, you know? To accuse me based on his missing little auror?” Harry snorted and traced the design on the tabletop with a finger. “Well, I guess I need to give some serious consideration to the idea of capturing him, and the remaining Order members on the list, and getting rid of them, eh?”

“And do you have any ideas as to do so? Capture and kill?”

Harry looked up with a grin. “Yeah, but all of it will take some doing. I’m not so concerned about the Order members. Their deaths, I mean. As for Dumblefuck, though, I have something very special in mind for him. You might say it’s an oldie but goodie.”


	19. Yummy Tuna

Harry decided he wanted to dig into the Ministry archives again, despite the fact that Voldemort was not happy with the idea of him going out in public as Justus Bane. Even so, he gained the records room with no fuss and spent quite a few hours digging around, looking for evidence of instances where the laws concerning incubi (and technically, succubi) had actually been enforced.

He was beginning to understand just why Voldemort had said there were no known incubi in Britain given what he was uncovering. Unfortunately, if Dumbledore decided to try to play a trump card, it was possible a manhunt could start up looking for Harry Potter. Between how the laws went, and that damn parchment Fudge had signed, it might be said that Harry belonged to the headmaster, even if he had been turned over to his dogs.

Well, there was no way in hell Harry was going to let that man get his hands on him again. And Harry Potter would not be seen in public anytime soon. He still thought it was horribly petty for Dumbledore to make the implication that a man who told him, essentially, to mind his own beeswax, must be a dark lord. He left with a snort, finished for the time being, and headed toward the atrium so he could leave and go home.

He had just stepped into the lift when he felt a gentle spell wash over him, and turned swiftly to see who dared interfere with Ministry personnel, especially while still on the premises. And lo and behold, the face brought forth to his line of vision was that of Albus Dumbledore, who was looking very much flappable for a split second.

“Harry?” the old man whispered.

Harry arched a brow while making sure he was properly positioned; trust the headmaster to have used an identification spell. “You’re delusional, old man, grasping at straws. Perhaps you should check into St Mungo’s when you _exit_.”

Dumbledore raised his wand and cast again, but whatever spell it was splashed harmlessly against the lift doors. It began its journey upward a second later, but not for a moment did Dumbledore stop gazing at him, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

Harry went straight home, well aware that Voldemort was going to give him one of those looks. He corrected his appearance and clothing and slinked off to the offices, whereupon he interrupted a meeting his lover was having with Lucius. Harry paid that man no attention whatsoever, instead perching on the edge of the desk and saying, “We have a problem.”

Voldemort sighed and narrowed his gaze.

Harry tilted his head toward Lucius. “Just how much can you trust this one, cosire?”

His lover responded by waving his wand at the door, securing it, then casting a few extra privacy charms. “What happened? And if Lucius is an issue you can simply rearrange his head.”

He dropped all pretenses and ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Dumblefuck was there and managed to cast an identification spell on me. There were a lot of people there in the atrium, but that’s no excuse for me not having sensed him approaching. I have to wonder if he used some sort of spell, I don’t know.

“In any case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this is all over the papers, either tonight or in the morning. He tried to get me a second time, with something, but I was too fast for him. I’ve no idea if he was going for incarceration or what. And yes, you were right, I shouldn’t have tempted fate by being seen in public as Bane.”

Voldemort gave the briefest of smirks, then said, “I’ll have to think of a suitable forfeit.”

“I know he’s planning something, I could see it in his face, his eyes.”

“You did say you held little care for your reputation.”

Harry snorted, glanced at Lucius, then said, “Right, but I wasn’t bloody well having to anticipate being on the damn front page again, this time with my true face. The wizarding public is going to shit bricks if they find out that Lord Thanatos is the Boy Who Wouldn’t Fucking Die.”

Lucius promptly passed out, but he did so elegantly. One had to give him credit for that much at least.

Voldemort ennervated him carelessly. “Lucius, do try to keep up. It is very vexing when you act like some chit wearing a too tight corset. Harry, do you even have the old man’s capture planned?”

He nodded. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but. . . . Why? Do you think I should shoot for that now? Like, tonight? If I do it too quickly he’ll be down there for quite a while, and I still have a lot of other arrangements to make. I’m going to need several squads to go on missions for what I have in mind.”

His lover furrowed his brow slightly, then shook his head. “We can keep him under for as long as necessary. It will just be more work, that’s all.”

“Yes, all right, but—I’m just concerned that he could somehow work his way out of that. He might not be enough for the both of us combined, but neither is he a fragile old man barely holding onto life. Or is he?”

Voldemort shrugged. “He was certainly spry during your fifth year. Either way is fine with me.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, absently noticing that Lucius looked really quite pale, even for him. “He doesn’t have real proof. You can’t share the results of an identity spell via memory, and I sincerely doubt that Dumblefuck would allow anyone to dose him with veritaserum. And at that, it doesn’t always work. The only other thing I could think to do is forcibly portkey him here and obliviate him, and I can’t guarantee it can be done.”

“Would it really be so bad if people knew?”

Harry snorted and gestured at Lucius. “Given his reaction? I’m not so sure.”

“Now, Harry, Lucius is just a little surprised that the man he so admires when it comes to insanely superior fighting skill happens to be someone he’s tried to kill on an occasion or six, that’s all.”

He snorted again, this time slipping off the edge of the desk. “Uh huh. You make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He turned and slinked off into his own office and unlocked the lower left drawer, pulled it out, removed the false bottom, then disabled the spell-lock and opened the secret compartment.

After retrieving a single vial he put everything back as it had been and slinked into Voldemort’s office. “I’m going to make sure blondie here doesn’t inadvertently or accidentally-on-purpose talk about this. Granted, it won’t matter if Dumblefuck does spill the beans and people start to believe it, but until then, I’d like to cover my bases. It worked well enough on Draco, after all.”

“My lord, please. . . ?”

Harry looked over and raised his brows, dropping his chin slightly at the same time. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lucius. It’s not like I plan on dressing you up or anything. Something tells me you can’t pull off the girly look nearly as well as your son can.”

“No, my lord, I mean to say . . . you’re good for . . . my lord.”

He barely prevented the surprise from showing on his face. That didn’t stop him from speaking, though. “Did I just step into a friggin’ episode of the Twilight Zone? Since when does Lucius Malfoy, of all people, have a heart?”

“Now, Harry, we both have hearts, so is it such a surprise if Lucius does?”

Harry scowled. “I’m still making sure he won’t talk.” And then he stunned the blond and force fed him the mind altering potion. It was some time before he relaxed in satisfaction, commenting to Voldemort mischievously, “I considered using arousal as the result, but I thought that might have rather a bad effect, like Lucius here developing a crush on me.”

His lover snorted and looked at his minion, who was only just beginning to look normal again. “Now that that is out of the way. . . .”

Harry frowned, unwillingly reminded of why exactly they were there. “You know, it’s not so much that I care about the reputation of the Boy Who Lived. I’m more concerned with the news getting out that he is also Justus Bane. Speaking of which, do you have any nifty little spells or rituals tucked away that could falsify the results of an identification spell?”

“I will look.”

Harry nodded, then belted out, “Kreacher!”

It took a few seconds, but the elf did appear, his shoulders bowed forward and looking just as hideous as he always had. “Master called?”

Well, that was cause for mild relief. Either the creature inherently recognized its master, or Walburga had discreetly informed the elf to obey the dark lords. “Yes. I have a task for you, probably more than one. First, who is at the house right now?”

Kreacher listed to one side a bit and said, “Kreacher is seeing no one.”

“Fine. It is very likely that the old man will call a meeting soon. And even if he doesn’t, he will eventually, so this is what I want you to do. . . .”

* * *

Later that evening they had a full house. Kreacher had done as instructed and set off a concussion grenade in the middle of an Order meeting, rendering everyone present unconscious. Thankfully, he had done it correctly, before the meeting had actually started, as evidenced by the fact that so far no one had memories of Dumbledore dropping the bomb (so to speak).

Kreacher had forced a sleeping potion down the throat of every person Harry had designated, slapped each with a portkey, and lastly had popped back to the compound to inform his masters. The elf had assured them that he had not been seen, either, so those Order members left behind (presumably to wake up with blinding headaches) would not have a clue what had actually transpired.

So it was that they had a collection of people to play with, though not until Harry was ready, that is. There was a great deal more work to do before they could actually see to the end of Dumbledore. The others were not so important, but would still pay the price for following the old man’s lead in dealing with Harry.

And Harry was not prepared to be nice.

Still, in addition to the preparations necessary for Dumbledore, Harry had a few other things to take care of, the first of which was his erstwhile house mates. It was getting a bit crowded down in the secret dungeon as it was, and Neville showed every sign of having been freed from his addiction to muggle drugs. So he woke them after making sure their area looked nothing like a dungeon, and sat them down for a chat.

“How do you feel?” was the first thing he asked.

Neville blinked a few times and looked at Ginny, then back at Harry. “Fine, I guess. Ginny?”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel abnormal. I feel like I’ve just woken up from a decent night’s sleep.”

Harry nodded. “That is as it should be. I made very sure to keep you both fed and hydrated, among other things. Neville, I can’t find a trace of drugs left in you, though I’m going to warn you that you might feel tempted to start in on them. I expect Ginny can keep you from doing anything foolish.”

“You’re damn right I can,” she said firmly, then she gave him a hesitant look.

“What is it?”

“Are they. . . ?”

Harry tilted his head to the side and nodded slightly. “Not Bill and Charlie. Not even Percy, but he didn’t get away scot free. Your father repented before he died, though.”

Ginny’s expression went all funny at that and she gratefully leaned into Neville when he tentatively slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I feel . . . really conflicted, Harry. I’m so angry at them, but I’m so sad that they’re gone, too. Dad was sorry?”

“Yes. He was the only one.” Harry furrowed his brow. “I kind of broke down when he did, but Tom was there to help me. Anyway, I gave him a clean, quick death, Ginny. I guess . . . if you want to see what happened, I could show you, though. . . .”

Ginny shifted a bit, suddenly seeming quite resilient. He wondered privately if she was going to have a minor nervous breakdown once she and Neville got to their new home, and if she would come to hate him in time.

“I think . . . it might make me feel better if I did, to see for myself that at least one of them was sorry.”

“All right.” Harry produced a pensieve and dropped a memory into it, very carefully pruned to begin after he had cleaned up after the twins, and ending when he left the dungeon.

They came out of it looking slightly nauseated, though that was not to say all. Ginny looked faintly relieved and both were giving him vaguely sympathetic looks. “I could almost get to like that man,” she commented.

Harry jerked back slightly. “He’s not a nice man, Ginny. He doesn’t like fluffy kittens and bunny rabbits and he doesn’t give to charity.”

“He’s nice to you.”

“An exception, I assure you. Aside from that he’s either casually cruel, deadly, or indifferent.” He shook his head and said, “Look, that’s beside the point. You two can get going whenever you’re ready. I’ve a portkey for you to take you both to your new home. I’ll even go with you if you want, but I’ve set everything up already. I also have a set of keys to a vault so you don’t need to worry about money for a few years.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, Gin,” Neville said softly.

“Harry, what if Neville has problems that I can’t handle?”

“Er, you mean like in the immediate sense? Such as in the next few days?”

She nodded.

“I can give you another portkey, but. . . . I’d need to talk to Tom about that, since I’d want it to only work for you two. It’s not like I can receive owl post, after all, and I don’t want some fool getting his hands on something like that and dropping in unexpectedly. Now, should I call him here, or should I go see him elsewhere for a few minutes? Like, are you two going to freak out if you see him?”

Ginny straightened up resolutely. “I can handle it.”

Harry glanced at Neville, who sort of shrugged, then nudged Voldemort. They sat there in silence for a good few minutes before the door opened and his lover stepped in, closing it quietly behind him.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Are you able to make a blood-bonded portkey for two? Ginny would like a way to quickly reach me in case Neville has difficulties over the next few days.” A discreet glance at Neville showed the young man was ghostly pale, but conscious. For that matter, Ginny was a bit pale, too.

Voldemort ran one long-fingered hand over his scalp, then nodded. “Yes. I assume you would like it sooner rather than later?”

Harry licked his lips, knowing what it would do to his lover. “Please.”

The corner of Voldemort’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then exited, and there was silence again while they waited. When he returned he was holding a rectangular silver tag with rounded corners and a hole at one of the narrow ends. “Mr Longbottom, Miss Weasley, you will both need to place a drop of blood on this for it to be bonded. Thereafter it will work only for the two of you, and will return you to this location.”

Voldemort placed the tag onto the small table in the room and gestured as he said, “The activation phrase is engraved on it.”

Ginny edged over and looked, but didn’t touch, then glanced up with a puzzled expression. “999?”

“It’s a muggle thing,” Voldemort said blithely.

Harry snickered and produced a knife, spelled it clean, and placed it on the table. “I get the feeling you should put that on the chain around your neck once you’re done,” he said to her.

She took the knife, preparing to nick her finger, then tilted her head drastically sideways. “Or is that 666?”

Voldemort smirked and shook his head. “No, Miss Weasley. 999 is the emergency number to ring in Britain—for muggles, that is. 666 on the other hand, has definite biblical meaning.”

“Uh, right.” Ginny slid the blade over her fingertip, winced, then let a single drop fall onto the tag. The knife was passed over to Neville, who did likewise, and only then did the blood mix and seep into the metal.

Harry retrieved the knife and cleaned it before putting it away, then quickly healed their minor wounds, at which point Ginny unfastened the fine silver chain she was wearing and slipped the tag onto it, then replaced it around her neck. (Neville had to help, though, but Harry thought that was more to get him to touch her than because she needed actual assistance.)

He then produced the portkey which would take them to their new home. It was in the shape of a key and attached to a small ring, which also held keys for the vault he had arranged for them. “Now, I’m going to assume if you two somehow mysteriously remain ‘just friends’ that you’ll divide the money. Aside from that, enjoy. The black key is the portkey. When I went to the house earlier I made sure that the cupboards were stocked with everything you’ll need, and the place is furnished as well.”

Ginny was getting a bit teary-eyed on him, so Harry pushed the ring in to her hand almost roughly. It was bad enough he cried on occasion; he didn’t need some girl getting all weepy. “You should go,” he said softly. “Start your new life.”

Neville reached out to touch the black key, using his other hand to make sure Ginny was, then said, “Home,” after Harry mouthed the word. They both disappeared a second later.

Harry stared at the floor as though fascinated for a short time, then looked at Voldemort and said, “I guess we should keep this room as is, maybe add a bell or something so that if they do show up then I’ll know.”

“Of course, Harry.”

An hour or so later on they were upstairs and Lucius had been summoned. “Right, this is what I need you to organize,” Harry said as he pushed a folder across Voldemort’s desk. “I need one hundred muggles, and in there is a list of muggle prisons. I would prefer you at least take people who are actually in there for being very naughty.

“It would be a plus if you can make it look like some bizarre conspiracy occurred whereby inmates from several prisons all managed to stage a prison break on the same night and get away with it. Nobody dies unless it’s unavoidable, and no, that doesn’t mean you can take Dolohov along and come back with a story about one of them looking at him funny and thus needed to die for their insolence.”

Voldemort snorted in amusement.

“In other words, get in, stun, obliviate, etcetera, get out. That folder also contains the blueprints of the prisons where I could manage to get them. Once you’ve figured out how many teams and whatnot, let us know and we’ll provide the portkeys you’ll need to bring them in.

“And, preferably, not any weedy fellows who look like a passing breeze could blow them over. I want strong types, ones with a lot of spirit and life. They’re going to be very important to me quite soon. If the muggles had a death penalty I’d say go after those prisoners specifically, but they don’t.” Then he paused and murmured, “I’m going to have to re-use the maze. There’s no way they’ll all fit in otherwise.”

“Should I expect you to disappear on me again for a week?” Voldemort asked archly.

Harry flashed him a quick grin. “Well, I must do things properly. I also need to go deal with one last person.”

“Just one? I’m almost surprised you’ve not said a word about . . . chastising your family.”

He slid off the desk to pace in a tight circle. “I can’t really see that they deserve to die. A bit of mild abuse isn’t justification.” He paused when his lover favored him with a knowing look. “That’s not to say I couldn’t do something nasty like force him out of a job or even sell the lot of them into slavery somewhere in an Asian country. Or I could just forget about them. They really aren’t all that important. Maybe after all is said and done I can worry about them.”

“As you wish. Do you require assistance with the last?”

Harry smirked and shook his head. “No, I think I’ve got that one covered quite handily.”

Voldemort nodded and turned to Lucius. “Get on that immediately. The more quickly we can move ahead the better. After all, I’d like to take a holiday some time this century.”

Lucius rose and bowed to them both, scooped up the folder, and took his leave.

“Go on,” Voldemort said. “Go play. I’ll keep an eye on the prisoners.”

“Oh my god,” he said suddenly, causing his lover to look at him sharply. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea. I know exactly what to do with my family. Care to do some reconnaissance with me?” he asked invitingly.

* * *

They crept up on № 4 Privet Drive and carefully examined the property for any remaining wards; there were none to be found, which made his mate a very happy, quite affectionate incubus, as evidenced by the ten minutes of kissing and groping which resulted. From there they headed north and over onto Wisteria Walk to check out the house of Arabella Figg.

Her house did have wards, but Voldemort could not see that they would be any real bother to them. Indeed, given Harry’s basic plan to gain entrance, they were more or less a moot point. His mate gave him another kiss just prior to changing to his cat form, then slinked off to make his way in via the cat flap she had in her back door.

Voldemort was spying as Harry paused long enough to roll around in some dirt and ruffle his fur the wrong way before entering and creeping toward her kitchen. Once he spotted her he laid back his ears and bent his hind legs a bit, remaining still at that point. When she did happen to notice him and moved forward, Harry backed up a few steps and made a pitiful sound.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she gushed, “you look like you’ve been dragged backward through a hedge. I bet you’re breathtaking when you’re clean.”

Harry affected to respond favorably to the sound of her voice and brought his ears up slightly.

She moved cautiously to the door leading out of the kitchen and said, “Mr Tibbles, dear, please keep the other cats away for a bit, all right? We’ve a stray that needs seeing to,” then turned back to Harry and said, “Perhaps you’re hungry, dear? You don’t look especially starved, but still. I bought some yummy tuna just earlier today.”

The second she turned away to rummage in her cupboards Harry reverted to human form, shook out a wand, and hit her with a paralyzation spell. “Yummy tuna, indeed,” he muttered, then said more loudly, “It’s time to die, Mrs Figg. You might have kept an eye on me for Dumblefuck for years, but you never once gave me much of a break, never mind help me out when Vernon did things like put bars on my window and lock me in all summer.

“I’m stretching the rules here a bit, but maybe if you’d been nicer to me all those years, I wouldn’t be here right now, about to watch you die an agonizing death.” Harry pushed her away from the cupboards with one booted foot and opened them, pulling out a selection of tins and placing them on the counter. An investigation of the drawers produced an opener, which Harry immediately employed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Dumblefuck told you only to intervene in life or death matters,” he said as he opened tins. “But really, I should think you’d at least have been a bit nicer to me when I was made to stay here with you. Did you know, I absolutely despise cabbage because of you?”

Harry turned to look down at her and snorted. “Stupid old bat. I might have foregone killing you, but I had such an interesting idea, and I badly wanted to see if it would work, so there you are.” Harry upended one of the tins he was holding and squeezed, fishy oil dribbling all over her. He then proceeded to do the same with every can she had, drizzling her from head to toe, though avoiding her eyes.

He took a moment to clean himself up before calling out, “Oh, Mr Tibbles, I have something yummy for you and your friends!”

An undetermined amount of time later (though not until Harry was positive that Mrs Figg was, in fact, dead as a doornail) he transformed back into a cat and pranced out of the house to go rejoin his lover. And when Harry arrived he launched himself at Voldemort, startling him, though he had the presence of mind to bring his arms up to catch his mate against his chest.

Harry purred loudly and rubbed his face against Voldemort’s cheek, then leapt down to the ground and changed back. “I wonder how long before anyone notices she’s dead,” he said with a giggle. “Now she really has a reason to be upset with them, though it’s a bit late to be worrying about that. I’ll have to keep an eye out on the papers to see how it gets reported.”

Voldemort cast his mate an amused look and nodded. “So, are we heading back to your family’s house?”

“Yup! We just need to look the part first.” Harry whipped out a wand and waved it around for a bit, altering Voldemort’s glamour, then shifted into the guise of an earnest, clean-cut young man. Another few minutes had their clothing transformed.

“What on earth is it you have me wearing?” Voldemort asked, glancing down to see a muggle suit in navy blue, a crisp white shirt, tie, and polished black leather shoes.

Harry crouched down to snag two leaves from the ground and said, “That’s perfectly normal attire.” On standing up he transfigured one into a glossy pamphlet and the other into what looked like a magazine. “Just follow my lead, all right?”

How could he resist that smile? Voldemort nodded. “Lead on, then.”

Harry pressed a kiss to his mouth, then grinned. “Interesting. I can smell my marking of you. Well, let’s go. I have a family to capture.” His mate led the way out of their hiding spot and marched off to his former home, boldly heading up the walk to ring the doorbell.

It was answered by Dudley. He opened his mouth to speak, took in their appearance and what Harry was holding, and abruptly paled. “No,” he said, “absolutely not.”

Harry affected shock. “Why, sir, is that any way to treat a fellow human being intent on your spiritual salvation?” He nimbly shoved a foot in the door, preventing his cousin from closing it. “Now, I can clearly see you’re an intelligent sort, so I just know you won’t mind us coming in so we can talk to you and show you some of our lovely publications, like _The Watchtower_.”

His mate pressed forward, forcing Dudley back into the house. “We even have an informative pamphlet for you to look over!” he caroled. Within two minutes they were seated on a sofa in the lounge and Petunia was twittering about in distress.

“Diddykins,” she hissed at him, “how could you let those people in? Now we have to be polite, and they’ll not leave for hours!”

“Yes, tea would be lovely,” Harry said as though he had been asked a question. “Terribly kind of you.”

Petunia wrung her hands before disappearing into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Harry beamed a smile at Dudley and asked, “And will the man of the house be home soon? I should so hate for him to be left out. Family is extremely important in this day and age.”

Dudley just gaped at him so Harry chattered away for the next few minutes, barely pausing to breathe, until Petunia came back with a tray and set about serving everyone.

Harry praised her fulsomely, citing what a model family they appeared to be, which had the effect of his aunt settling down a bit, though she did keep glancing at the clock. Voldemort assumed she was hoping that her husband would arrive soon and save them from the religious whackos they were apparently posing as.

And he did arrive shortly thereafter, bustling in from the hall with his florid face and self-important air, just as Harry was saying happily, “And _The Watchtower_ is free, so it would really be no trouble at all for us to add you to our mailing list.”

“What!?”

Harry looked up, his eyes wide with totally feigned innocence, and smiled. “You must be the man of the house!” He proceeded to talk his uncle into a stupor, not letting the man get in a word edgewise, and when they were all of them looking like they were hard pressed to even stay awake, Voldemort experienced a mental nudge.

He whipped out his wand to ensorcel the uncle as his mate took care of the other two, then rose and snatched a curio off the mantelpiece and turned it into a portkey. As he was arranging the trio to be whisked away he commented, “I was damn near asleep myself, love. I think you owe me one for inadvertent torture.”

Harry laughed at him and shook his head.


	20. Albus Dumbledore

“And now what do we do with them?” Voldemort inquired.

“Right now? Nothing until I make them appropriate clothing and accessories,” Harry said with a malicious quirk to his mouth. “This will be somewhat challenging, actually.”

“Harry, my sweet, just what in blazes are you up to?”

His mate pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his lips, “Something spiteful. I promise, I’ll explain just as soon as I get back from a quick little shopping trip. And no peeking. I want it to be a surprise.”

Voldemort sighed openly. He would feel actual guilt at that point if he went against his mate’s professed wish and spied anyway. Still, with Dumbledore already in their grasp, the odds of Harry getting caught while out were slim. “Please use an unknown face?”

“Sure,” Harry said agreeably, then snuggled up close for a real kiss that ended far too soon for Voldemort’s liking. His mate flashed him a sultry smile as he backed away. “I love you,” he said huskily, then skipped off quickly.

Voldemort ground his teeth, not happy to be left there wanting. His mate came back approximately a half hour later carrying a bag from Marks & Spencer. “Got the cheapest they had,” he said cheerfully, then unloaded the bag to reveal sets of . . . sheets?

“Harry?” he said with a slight edge as his mate began ripping the plastic off.

“I figure I owe Lucius one.” And before Voldemort could inquire further Harry continued, “After all, I did trick him into setting one of his house-elves free. So I thought, why not give him some new servants? Granted, they can’t possibly be as efficient and skilled and dedicated as actual elves, but it’s a start, right?”

Harry shook out one of the sheets and held it up against his uncle. “I can’t very well dress them in pillow cases or tea towels, so. . . .”

He began chuckling and shaking his head. “And if Lucius graciously accepts the gift and kills them later on in a fit of pique?”

His mate shrugged indifferently. “I expect he’ll get the house-elves he does have to whip this lot into shape. If they end up dead they obviously won’t have taken their new jobs very seriously.”

Voldemort grabbed a sheet and shook it out, then held it up against the aunt, who was thin and could probably be dressed with just the one.

“The only thing I really need to do before handing them over, aside from giving them the proper clothing, is to cause them each to experience crucio so I can set up a trigger loop to keep them from babbling about Harry Potter’s life with them.”

“Then shall we get started?”

* * *

A week later found them sitting in Voldemort’s office with Lucius, though Harry chose to sit in a chair for once, rather than perch on the desk. “So, report.”

Lucius placed a file on the desk and began. “I have chosen four prisons, my lords, based on the available information, and have chosen teams for each location. I would like your approval before I finalize these plans.”

Harry snatched the file up and flipped it open to start scanning the information, occasionally nodding his head. When he was done he passed it to Voldemort, who likewise absorbed the contents. Lucius had chosen his teams well, selecting people with cool heads. Each team also contained a Seer and some good old fashioned muscle.

His mate gave him an expectant look, so he nodded. “This is acceptable. And if each team brings back slightly more than they need to, that is all right.”

“It’s fine. You’ve chosen people I know will be good in a fight so long as they keep their heads, so I don’t anticipate any major issues arising. No Dark Marks. We don’t want anyone getting the impression we’re rounding out our forces with hardened criminals from the muggle sectors. You’ve scouted these personally?”

“Yes, my lord. I chose each leader based on the configuration of the prison and what they would need to deal with in terms of not only getting to the prisoners, but also knocking out the muggle technology that could reveal our presence should anyone fail to remain invisible.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said, then summoned a box over. “The portkeys. They all act a bit like grenades. Attach one to a target and remove the pin. Two seconds later they will activate. That way, you needn’t be in the cells or even open them, just get the prisoners to come close enough. And yes, there are extras, and yes, I do expect any remaining back. Unless, that is, some of our Death Eaters would enjoy being tortured just like a muggle?”

“Get your people ready, Lucius,” Harry said. “You move tonight. I want Dumblefuck on his knees as quickly as possible.”

Lucius nodded and reclaimed the file, stood and bowed, then picked up the box and exited.

“Whatever shall we do while we wait?” Voldemort inquired innocently.

Harry cast him an opaque look, then smiled impishly. “We could discuss the possibility of children. Do you wonder what they might look like?”

So, his mate wished to tease him before playtime. “I don’t know, love. Do you suppose they would have noses like yours, or mine?”

Harry rose with a grin and pushed his way in between Voldemort and the desk, then sat on the edge and spread his legs. “Does it matter? Though, I admit, it would be a bit hard to tweak a child’s nose if they have one like yours,” he replied playfully.

Voldemort placed his hands on his mate’s thighs, then decided to ask a serious question. “What if we are not compatible in that fashion?”

His mate looked sad for a split second, then shook his head. “If not, then we’re not. We have each other, for always.”

“Always,” he agreed, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs. “And when were you planning to have these theoretical children, hm?”

Harry let out a soft sigh and dropped back to brace himself with his forearms as he closed his eyes. “Ah, whenever you like. I don’t get it,” he said, sounding almost confused. “The idea of carrying your children is making me feel really randy. It’s like this warm liquid feeling inside me, like . . . mmmmm, I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Voldemort stiffened; obviously his mate had _not_ read enough. “Harry, my sweet, you need to rein it back in. Right now is not a good time to be making babies, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t get yourself under control. We still have Dumbledore to deal with, remember?”

“Whatever you say, Tom,” Harry said absently, dropping his head back to expose his throat completely. “I can almost feel them growing inside me, a beautiful union of you and me.”

Voldemort was feeling mildly inclined toward panic at that point and wished like hell he had those reference books handy so he could double check a few things. It wasn’t like he could use a charm to render himself infertile temporarily. He had no idea if one would work properly given his altered physiology, or if it might have the effect of being permanent, which would surely upset his mate. Well, he assumed he could still father young.

“I really, really want you to make love to me, Tom,” Harry said breathlessly and shifted his legs further apart.

How in blazes did you gently tell the love of your life that he had absolutely lousy timing when it came to certain things? “Harry, I will, but not for offspring, not yet.”

“Not yet?” his mate asked softly.

“Not yet,” he repeated, gripping Harry’s thighs more firmly. “Love, if I get you with child right now, it could be harmed by what we plan to do to Dumbledore. You don’t want that, do you?”

Harry sat up abruptly and blinked a few times. “What the hell just happened?”

“I didn’t know you wanted children so badly,” Voldemort said cautiously.

“I—what?” His mate gave him a quizzical look.

Voldemort shook his head slowly. “No more talk of children until after Dumbledore is dealt with, my sweet. In fact, I suggest we go deal with our mole.”

Harry frowned at him. “No, what just happened?”

He sighed and said, “You just tried to entice me to mate, Harry, to impregnate you. It’s not the right time, love. We will try later on, all right?”

A wide-eyed look was cast his way. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, shall we take care of the mole while we wait on Lucius’s teams to act?”

“Uh, right.” Harry shook his head as if to clear it. “Yes, okay. He does need to go, and now is as good a time as any.”

A short time later they were escorting a rather queasy looking Landsman away from the overhead, ostensibly to discuss some of the trainees under his command. Unfortunately for that man, it was his week to be an observer, which made for quite a number of messes to be cleaned up. Why the man had not simply stepped down from his position or at least had the decency to take potions to help him with his little problem was completely beyond Voldemort.

They were barely out of sight of everyone when Harry stunned the man and chortled. “Silly little Landsman. You’ve been _so_ naughty. I have something very special in mind for you, darling. Let’s go see, shall we?”

Voldemort went on ahead to make sure the repelling charms were still active and that there were no immediate problems. He nudged his mate, who appeared a few seconds later with Landsman in his grasp.

“Did you know, darling, this used to be the tallest building in London until 1990? This particular floor houses a champagne bar called Vertigo 42. Thankfully, it’s the weekend, so we don’t have to deal with the muggles.” Harry dragged Landsman over to a bank of windows and pressed him up against one. “Isn’t the view splendid? And oh, look, that over there opens out onto a balcony.”

Voldemort followed as his mate dragged Landsman outside and propped him up against the railing; the man promptly wet himself. “One might get the idea he’s afraid of heights,” he commented.

Harry smirked at him, then looked back at his prey. “Did you also know, it takes approximately forty seconds to get to this floor if the lift goes straight up? I wonder how long it’s going to take for you to get down. Let’s find out, shall we?”

Several spells were cast before Harry levitated Landsman out away from the balcony, then simply let him go. The man dropped like a stone, and his mate leaned out over the railing to watch his progress. “Oooo, looks like he’s too frightened to break free of that stunner and apparate to safety,” he commented with a laugh, then winced theatrically as a miniscule puff appeared far below. “If he’s not dead, I wouldn’t want to be his healer.”

Voldemort laughed and pulled Harry in close for a kiss. “It’s not every day you have a minion turn on you because he’s pissed you make him face his fear nearly every day.”

Harry giggled. “Dumblefuck looked almost surprised when he understood why he’d managed to obtain a new spy. Well, let’s pop down real quick to make sure he is actually dead, then we can go home and be naughty together, okay?”

Suddenly wide, hopeful eyes captured his gaze, and Voldemort found himself nodding agreeably without pause for thought. Landsman was indeed one with the earth (or in this case, the pavement), so they returned home after ducking into a dark alley for cover. Harry dragged him off toward the back of the house when they arrived and through the door into the park.

“What are you up to?”

His mate shook his head stubbornly and hauled him over to a nice tree, one that provided a decent amount of shade, then whipped out a wand to begin casting a series of charms. “There,” he said finally, “all safe. I’ve never made love outdoors before, Tom, and I’ve made sure the pets won’t bother us.” He tucked the wand away before starting to strip, shedding his clothes at a fast clip without damaging them (for once).

Then Harry advanced on Voldemort and began undressing him. “Won’t it be nice, the sun shining down all around and a refreshing breeze flirting with us?” And he was shortly naked with his mate pressing up against him wantonly.

Voldemort reached up to grasp Harry by the shoulders and push him back a bit, then grab his chin. “Harry, promise me, you won’t attempt to mate this time, please?”

An alien look flashed across Harry’s face, but he nodded nevertheless. “I promise. Just making love. It’s too soon.”

He was not entirely comforted by that, but released his mate’s chin and kissed him instead, drawing him slowly down to the ground where they could rest on the pile of clothing. Who cared if those got dirty? That’s what cleaning charms were for.

It wasn’t long before his mate was straddling him and easing down onto his cock, delightful hissing spilling from his lips and questing fingers doing wicked things to Voldemort’s chest and nipples. And for once, he hissed back, words coming forth that were not those easily translated into English, for snakes had a distinctly different way of viewing the world, or even describing it.

He was moderately shocked when Harry’s eyes flicked open to reveal slit pupils like his own, and the longer he looked into those altered eyes the more aroused he became, above and beyond the norm. When he attempted to roll his mate onto his back and take complete control Harry resisted and hissed at him warningly. And for a moment there Voldemort thought that his mate’s instincts had taken over and he was going to be a daddy much sooner than he had expected.

It was a total shock, therefore, when Harry threw his head back with a moan of pain, then lurched forward to drown Voldemort with a mass of silky black hair, all the while still riding him with abandon. When Voldemort could see again there were two scaled wings hovering overhead, originating from his mate’s back.

They set him off; Voldemort began to orgasm a split second later, even before Harry, though his mate lost himself as well within moments. It wasn’t until several minutes later that Voldemort felt rested enough to reach up one tentative hand and brush it against a wing; Harry shifted against him, pressing closer.

“Harry, love, why has this happened?” Those damn books never said anything about this, and if he were the type he would track down those blasted authors with their misbegotten ideas about the nature of incubi and strangle every last one of them. He was strongly beginning to think that not one of them had got closer to an incubus than a country away.

Harry pulled himself up and glanced over his shoulder, then blinked and scratched his forehead. “Now how am I supposed to hide these?” Then he turned an accusatory gaze on Voldemort. “See? I told you I didn’t like to cover the scales. Now we know why.”

“Harry,” Voldemort said patiently, “there must be a reason they’ve decided to appear. Does nothing come to mind? Do you think it has anything to do with you wishing to procreate?”

Harry scowled at him. “Procreate? Bloody procreate?”

“Carry our children,” Voldemort said hastily, then relaxed minutely when his mate’s expression cleared.

“Oh. I have no idea, actually. They’re never going to believe I’m part dementor now. Not with these flapping about.”

Voldemort relaxed further and ventured a slight jest. “And if they were feathered we could call you the angel of death.” Then he added, “They’re beautiful, Harry, just as you are.” And they were, sparkling like diamonds even in the shade cast by the tree they were under.

“You don’t . . . mind them?” Harry didn’t wait for a response; he leaned in to kiss Voldemort again, making the question rhetorical.

“You realize, of course, that this is going to make it damn difficult for me to make love to you as I normally do,” he commented, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mate’s mouth.

Harry snorted. “You’re not the one who probably can’t sleep on his back any longer.”

Voldemort did not think it was prudent to point out that his mate invariably slept tucked up against his side, or draped over his chest, not on his back.

“You need to eat,” Harry said, “and then we can go take a nap before the fun starts.”

* * *

Harry had vetoed the idea of letting the Death Eaters watch the proceedings with the idea that it was terribly unwise to give one’s minions ideas on how to defeat their masters should they decide that a lifetime of servitude wasn’t their thing any longer. About the only exception he was willing to make was for Lucius, and then only because the man had the good sense to approve of him.

The maze had been transformed. There was now a central chamber and around it were a multitude of cells containing the prisoners Lucius and his teams had procured for their scheme. Harry, of course, had made sure to cancel any enchantments of the headmaster’s spectacles that would give him special extras, such as being able to see through illusion or discern those who were disillusioned or invisible.

His mate started things off very simply, with Dumbledore strapped into a peculiar looking chair in the middle of the central chamber. It was not quite like what one would find in a Ministry trial room, but close enough to bring such a place to mind. In front of the captive was a pensieve, one that had been enchanted to replay the memories it held in a specific order.

Voldemort knew that had it been possible his mate would have requested the memories force the viewer to experience them from a very particular point of view. However, that was not the case, so his mate made do. Harry was standing directly behind the headmaster when he came to and lifted his head cautiously, then tried to look around warily.

Not a word was spoken, though; Harry simply kicked the back of the chair with one booted foot, causing it to lurch forward and over to force Dumbledore’s face into that pensieve. Voldemort smiled when Harry said, “That should keep him occupied for a bit,” then began giggling.

“Well, he did really wish to know what happened to all those people,” he pointed out needlessly. “I’m sure he will be quite pleased to sit through a retrospective of their torture and deaths.”

Harry grinned. “That makes me sound like an artist.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Doing all right there, Lucius?”

“My lord, may I know . . . who?”

Harry pivoted to face Lucius directly. “Oh, why not. I’m in an excellent mood. Let’s see.” He began ticking names off on his fingers. “Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Dolores Umbridge, George Weasley, Fred Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Sturgis Podmore—you were there for him, naturally—and Arabella Figg.

“In the other column we have Remus Lupin and Percy Weasley—they aren’t dead, but they are under my control—and at some point, Cornelius Fudge will die. And I’ve stolen Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley from his influence. At this point we have a baker’s dozen of Order members to contend with plus Dumblefuck himself. You’ll hear more about them later on, though. Wouldn’t want to spoil any surprises.”

Lucius nodded rather absently, causing Voldemort to wonder if he was internalizing that information and refusing to show his actual reaction to the number of Light people Harry had taken out on his own in a fairly short length of time. Still, Lucius was turning out to be a far more loyal minion than he had realized, and that was always a nice thing to know.

A timer on the back wall gave them fair warning when it was about time for Dumbledore to be released from the pensieve, so Lucius was bidden to disappear and Voldemort also stepped out of sight, behind a false wall set up for exactly that purpose. Harry, on the other hand, skipped around the room in circles, eventually coming to a stop before the headmaster once he came back to awareness of the real world.

The pensieve was shuttled off behind the man and to Voldemort, who quickly regained the memories, as it had been he who had provided them in the first place.

“Hi!” Harry said brightly. He was dressed in his usual black leather, though this time the vest was missing. His wings were tightly folded against his back and not visible at present to the headmaster; they would be if his mate moved the right way. “Did you enjoy the memories?”

Dumbledore started to speak but Harry cut him off instantly. “Fantastic! Now, I have something really super special in mind for you, so don’t wander off or anything.” He whipped out a wand and flicked it around, then stepped back a bit as portions of the floor began to rise. “You see, I did a little research. Grindelwald was a fascinating fellow! But of even more interest was his little squib friend, Hitler.”

The floor sections rose to verticality and began to box the headmaster in, turning translucent as they approached position, though the front section hung back. “He had such interesting ways to kill people, don’t you think? Well, I’m going to borrow one of his ideas. I’m nearly breathless with anticipation to see how it’ll affect you,” Harry said just before the last piece clicked into place. Another few flicks of his wand produced a ceiling of sorts and a few more coaxed conduits to snake up from the floor and attach to the construct.

Within seconds a hissing sound could be heard quite clearly and it was obvious that something was being piped into the translucent box. Mr Unflappable simply sat there, unmoving, like he knew something they did not. He was, however, shortly unconscious, having displayed the characteristic signs of great pain before passing out.

Harry bounced around for a few seconds and then spelled the gas feed off. Then he turned and skipped through the false wall to gaze at Lucius. “You get to sleep through this part, blondie,” he said, then nailed him into a coma before asking, “Are you ready?”

Voldemort nodded and began spelling away fake walls even as his mate did, revealing the muggle prisoners waiting, most of them not so patiently, and trying despite the spells to keep them silent to shout and yell and make a fuss.

The next several hours were spent performing an insanely complicated ritual (much favored by Grindelwald, who tended to ‘borrow’ prisoners from Hitler’s camps) intended to strip a wizard of his magic, thus the need for the muggle sacrifices. By the time they were done every last one of the prisoners looked as though they had been sucked dry, and were most certainly dead.

Voldemort was feeling fairly well fagged at that point and knew his mate must be also, and so conjured up an impromptu bed for them to take a nap on before continuing with Harry’s little play. And when they were rested, the fake walls were put back into place to hide the evidence and Lucius was brought back to consciousness none the wiser for what had actually occurred.

Dumbledore was likewise released from his coma, but not before they ran a few scans to assure themselves that his magic was, in fact, gone. When he did raise his head his eyes had a steely glint in them. Harry skipped back into his line of vision and said, “Whoops! That didn’t go quite right. You seem to be alive. Maybe it doesn’t work quite the same way on wizards as it does muggles, hm?”

Harry took a few moments to deconstruct the enclosure so that it was no longer in the way, then planted a hand on one hip. “I guess I’ll have to go to plan b, huh?”

“You disappoint me, Harry.”

His mate affected remorse, then smirked. “Like I give a shit. Hey, Tom, did you hear that? Dumblefuck here thinks I’m going to be all overcome with shame because I’ve been a naughty boy.”

Voldemort took that as his cue to step into view and come to a stop a short distance away; for some reason that made Dumbledore smile faintly. “You did say he was delusional, Harry.”

“Drunk on perceived power, I suppose,” was Harry’s comment. “Did you like what you saw? Did you enjoy seeing what a fabulous killer you all molded me into?”

“Their lives were sacrificed for the greater good,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry’s wings snapped into view, their movement an indication of irritation. “You really are out of your friggin’ mind, aren’t you? You just don’t care. The whole damn world could die so long as you managed to prove a point.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly again, then spoke, his eyes twinkling obscenely. “I see you have completed your transformation. Thus, it is time. Kill Voldemort, Harry.”

Voldemort noticed his mate stiffen and turn toward him slowly. For a split second he really did wonder if he had been had, and if he was about to enter a fight for his life. Then Harry finished his rotation, his face then concealed from Dumbledore’s view, and winked at him broadly before rolling his eyes.

“Kill Voldemort,” his mate repeated tonelessly, then raised his wand, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Yes, Harry, kill him. Fulfill your destiny,” Dumbledore urged.

Harry turned back quickly and shook his head. “No, don’t think so, old man. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been smoking, but there’s no way I’m going to do something that illogical.”

The faintest stirrings of panic touched Dumbledore’s eyes. “You must, Harry. I order it.”

Harry laughed in his face as his wings stretched out to their fullest extent. He moved to stand behind Voldemort and wrapped those wings around him like a shield, then poked his head around the side. “Order all you like, Dumblefuck, you’re just wasting your breath.”

“I command you!” Dumbledore thundered. “You are _my_ creature, your loyalty is mine!”

Voldemort laughed then, the sound rich and uninhibited. He turned within the embrace of those wings and murmured, “It seems you were right, love.”

“I was just hedging my bets,” Harry murmured back, then went up on his toes to peek over his lover’s shoulder. “Oooo, he looks upset,” he whispered and retracted his wings. “I suppose we should kill him now. You know, I’ve got this insane urge to tie a wand to a string and dangle that from a stick just barely in his reach. Well, I guess I’d have to release his arms first, huh? I wonder about his reaction when he realizes. . . .”

Voldemort turned to look at the old man (and he felt justified in using that term given that Dumbledore was approximately twice his age) and arched a brow. “He looks a bit done in to me. Even his anger cannot conceal it.”

“D’you suppose he might die on us because we. . . ?” Harry whispered in concern.

“I don’t know. I suggest we move ahead before we find out for sure.”

Harry flashed him a smile and nodded. “Okay.” He stepped forward again and grinned. “Time for plan b, Dumblefuck,” he said, then released the man’s restraints with a few waves of his wand. “Feel free to move about and stretch before we proceed. Wouldn’t want to hear you whining about a leg cramp or anything once we get going.”

Dumbledore rushed Harry, surprisingly agile for a man his age, and wrested the wand from him, then brandished it threateningly. “If you won’t obey, you will die.”

Harry skipped backward a few steps and laughed again. “Didn’t you even pay attention to my training, Dumblefuck? I don’t need a wand to be lethal.”

Voldemort, for show, quietly shook a wand into his hand and took up a defensive position.

“I will give you one last chance, Harry. Kill Voldemort or die.”

“Look, old man, you’d kill me once I was done anyway. Why should I make the effort to help you out for such a shitty return?”

Dumbledore’s eyes blazed as he shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

Harry looked at Voldemort a few seconds later and said, “You know, I was worried for a moment that he didn’t have it in him. That’s pretty much sealed his fate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed.”

Mr Unflappable was looking fairly well flapped; he tried again, with no better results. “What have you done!?” he roared.

“I told you Grindelwald was fascinating,” Harry trilled. “You’re a squib now, old man, and standing with the heart of the forces of Dark. So, unless you plan to try poking me into submission with that wand you borrowed, I suggest you start running.”

And he did, but was cut down with a stunner before he had taken two steps.

“Time for the torture,” Harry said cheerfully as he retrieved his wand. “Oh, Lucius! Do make yourself useful and spell that rack over here, would you?”

Lucius did so with alacrity; a quick perusal of the man revealed he was practically salivating at the idea of watching the leader of the Light be tortured. Voldemort conjured up his usual chair and summoned over a table with his wine and a glass, then had a seat and poured. His minion came to stand beside him.

Harry quickly stripped his victim and strapped him up. Unlike other racks they had used, though, this one allowed for a slow slippage, which made sense when his mate moved a pole into position with the sharpened end resting just at Dumbledore’s anus.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of impalement before,” Harry commented absently as he continued to arrange things, and spelled into place an odd apparatus fashioned from glass or something similar that hovered over the old man’s head. “And also Chinese water torture? Well, I’ve decided to do a bit of combining, and a bit of tweaking.

“You see, I’d like for you to feel violated like I was so often, and I’d like to attack your other great strength—your mind. That’s not water up there, Dumblefuck, it’s acid, and it’s going to drip down one shivery drop at a time and burn a hole into your brain, eventually turning it to mush. And while that’s happening, you’re going to keep slipping down a bit at a time so that nice pole can work its way up your ass to, in time, meet what’s left of your brain.”

Harry stepped back with a brilliant smile of satisfaction and flicked his wand a few times. Dumbledore was released from the stunner, the acid began to drip, and the bindings began to slip. “Enjoy! I know I will.”

Voldemort unobtrusively cast a few by then standard spells, then adjusted his position in his chair as his beloved came to sit sideways on his lap and lean against him.


	21. Loose Ends

It took a few extra spells, actually, to ensure that Dumbledore’s entire head did not turn to mush. The dripping acid had been allowed to fall only onto a particular spot on the man’s head, thereby assuring that a teensy bit of tweaking could be done to cover up the evidence should it be necessary.

Lucius spent the entire time stock still, barely breathing, and if Voldemort did not know better (and perhaps he did) he would have thought his minion was on the verge of an orgasm the entire time. Harry became increasingly restless on his lap, making him wonder if his mate was in need of a feeding. After all, the ritual had taken quite a bit out of both of them, and all they had done was taken a nap.

Eventually Dumbledore breathed his last, causing Harry to slip off his lap and begin casting spells to remove the container of acid and the impalement pole, and beside him Lucius let out a long, shuddering breath. Voldemort looked over his shoulder and took in the man’s expression with a smirk. It seemed he was not so far off the mark.

Harry turned back with a bright smile, paused for a second, then said, “Well. Looks like we can start considering a holiday spot for sometime in the very near future.”

Voldemort nodded and replied, “We will need to tie up a few loose ends first, but yes.”

His mate turned back to the corpse and spelled it into stasis, then enchanted the rack to float along behind him. “Shall we? Oh, and, Lucius? I have a little something for you.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius breathed.

Voldemort spelled his wine to follow him and stood up to lead the way back to the secret dungeon proper, with Lucius bringing up the rear of their odd little procession. Once they arrived he warded the door; he would return later to incinerate the muggle corpses.

Harry directed the rack up against one wall, then moved over to a cell and opened the door, gesturing at Lucius to join him. “Now, don’t think I’d forgotten that I cost you a servant, Lucius,” Harry said as he pointed inside the cell, “quite a ways back, so I’ve decided to give you a little gift.”

Lucius looked faintly confused, not to mention taken aback, and Harry continued, “These are my muggle relatives. I can’t for the life of me imagine that they can make up for an actual house-elf, but they can surely try if they expect to remain among the living.”

Voldemort would have bet at that moment if he could see his minion’s face that he would have seen the man’s expression brighten with the possibilities, and the implied permission Harry had just given.

“Thank you, my lord. I am most appreciative of this gift.”

“You can temporarily convert their collars to portkeys to get them to your manor. I’m sure you’re tired, so if you wish to take them along now, you have permission to do so.”

Lucius knew an order when he heard one and so bowed, then stepped into the cell to do just that. Within a few minutes all four of them were gone. Harry immediately pressed up against Voldemort and buried his face in his lover’s neck. “I need you,” he whispered.

“Home, Harry. Let us go home,” he whispered back.

Voldemort woke up the next morning with a warm body draped over his chest. That was not, of course, unusual, but the decided lack of wings was, so he gently rolled his beloved onto his back and began feasting on his neck, enjoying the sleepy sounds of pleasure his mate made as he struggled up toward awareness.

He continued, working his way downward to nibble on the hairless flesh and carefully take one of Harry’s nipples between his teeth and pull, then roll it around in his mouth. The other gained just as much attention before Voldemort slipped lower, sliding his tongue along that beautifully muscled abdomen and around his mate’s navel, to finally brush up against a penis that was straining to be touched.

Voldemort left one hand at Harry’s hip as he engulfed his mate’s twitching cock and began to fellate him, his other sliding down to caress not only his beloved’s balls but his perineum, and finally to slide his fingers within and pump in a mimicry of intercourse.

Harry began scrabbling at the sheets with his hands, rucking them up as his neck arched and deep, soulful moans began to issue from his throat. It did not take long, but it made no sense; Voldemort was shortly accepting the frantic thrusts of his mate into his mouth and swallowing his semen. He would, he thought, deal with his own problem soon enough.

Moments later he was being dragged up his mate’s body by Harry’s questing hands and insistent fingers into a kiss. And then, a surprise. “Tom, I’m not hungry,” Harry breathed.

He replied in mild confusion, wondering if his mate was rejecting sex, “I did not expect you to be, love. I fed you before we went to sleep.”

Harry’s eyes opened, once again displaying slit pupils, and he shook his head. “You don’t understand. I was hungry. Now I’m not. You just fed me.”

Voldemort thought for a moment that his mate was just too sleepy still to comprehend what he was saying, and then his eyes widened as the implication hit him. “You fed . . . off the pleasure I gained in giving you pleasure?”

His mate pulled his head down for another kiss, then said, “Yes, I think so. Those books are nearly useless, don’t you think? Now please, make love to me?”

And who was he to say no to such a sweet request?

It was not until several minutes after he had slumped over his beloved’s body that he raised his head and smirked. “You don’t seem to have noticed something important for all your wisdom this morning.”

Harry gave him a sated smile and shrugged an acknowledgement of his own ignorance.

“Your wings, they seem to be missing. And your eyes have gone all funny again, like mine.”

Harry blinked at him stupidly. “I am on my back, aren’t I. What do you mean by all funny?”

Voldemort reached over to fetch his wand and conjure up a hand mirror, then turned it to face his beloved.

“Oh! Again, you said?”

The mirror was summarily banished and Harry pulled up to a sitting position. “Yes. They appeared first when your wings did. But I think, if you’d like to continue to discuss these strange events, that we do so over breakfast. You’ve had yours, and I’m still hungry.”

It was over Voldemort’s meal that they discussed the fate of the baker’s dozen of Order members remaining to be killed, for once Harry not glaring his lover into silent consumption.

“There’s one thing that’s really bugging me,” Harry said with a thoughtful frown afterward. “Why did he try to kill me? Wouldn’t that mean his precious prophecy was a crock? I’ve lived under that weight since I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. And he tried to kill me when I refused to kill you?”

“That could be a number of things,” Voldemort offered, “desperation being foremost in my mind. Then again, you may be correct. The prophecy may have been a very elaborate scheme cooked up in his mind in order to eventually effect my death. After all, Dumbledore was known for playing with people’s lives, Harry. Third, it may be that he came to the same conclusion that we did, that the prophecy was broken or negated in some respects.”

“You’re not worried about it?”

Voldemort looked into the troubled face of his beloved and shook his head slowly. “While it seems as though we did not dig as deeply as perhaps we should have, no, I am not worried.” His reward for his conviction was an adoring smile.

It took Harry the better part of a week to gain conscious control of when his wings would appear. During that time he and Voldemort had cleaned up the century of muggle corpses from the cells surrounding the central chamber of the transformed maze, and had even gone to the trouble of creating a new maze, this time with a door opening into part of the indoor training facility. Like the door into the secret dungeon this one was heavily warded.

An assembly was called, and the audience chamber was filled with row upon row of simple chairs, something that made the arriving Death Eaters express confusion and uncertainty. Harry was pacing as he often did, but stopped and called out, “Take your places.” When the assembly did not move to take seats fast enough for his tastes he belted out, “I said sit!” 

The sound of so many Death Eaters scrambling to obey was nigh well deafening, and Voldemort was hard pressed to keep a smile off his face.

“Yes, my friends, I realize this is unusual,” Harry said in that dead tone he favored. “We have no need to hear you all twittering like brainless birds about it.” Dead silence followed, at which point Harry took his own seat next to Voldemort.

Several minutes passed before Harry spoke again, and Voldemort was given the distinct impression that his mate was struggling to keep his own amusement under wraps. “Now that we have all learned how to be quiet like good little girls and boys, let us continue. I want each and every one of you to reach down and feel under the seat of your chair. Some of you will find a piece of paper.”

Puzzled looks were exchanged as people obeyed their master’s bidding, a handful of them retrieving a piece of silver paper. Voldemort knew well that each had a number. Naturally, 99% of the assemblage had no idea they were participating in a time-honored muggle custom, which made it that much more humorous in his opinion. He drew the line at weekly bingo games, though.

“Splendid!” Harry said once they had all settled down again. “Those of you who were lucky enough to secure a ticket will find details on it as to what they mean. Those of you who did not will be able to watch the entertainment, rather than participate directly. And, if any of you would prefer to gift your prize to another, that is acceptable.”

“Form up into ranks and assemble outside the indoor training facility,” Voldemort ordered, rising to his feet, then watched as their minions did just that, making as little noise as possible. He and Harry arrived a short time later and led them all inside, and then through the door which presently led to the maze overhead.

“Ticket holders to me,” Harry ordered and quickly had thirteen Death Eaters clustered near him. “As you can all see, this is an observation room. You can see every portion of the maze below, so you will have a nearly unimpeded view of the activities shortly to begin.” He turned to the ticket holders. “Last chance to hand off if you do not feel inclined to a game of cat and mouse.”

Not one of them moved so Harry nodded and pointed at a door over on one wall. “Line up over there.” He did not bother to watch to see that they did; instead he slinked over to stand at Voldemort’s side.

“My friends,” Voldemort said, “we have for your amusement and entertainment thirteen captured members of the Order, and they will be released into the maze one at a time to be hunted down and killed. Torture is welcome, though you will not be penalized if you prefer a quick and decisive kill.”

At a nod from Harry and a flick of his mate’s wand Voldemort pointed his at the line of waiting Death Eaters. “We begin. First one in, now.”

* * *

Harry was plastered against the top of a shelf, hiding in a darkness his fur let him blend well into. He had been amused beyond words on having changed forms the first time since his complete transformation into an incubus to realize that the wings transferred over. It had taken him a number of tries to become the black Bengal cat again without them.

Mind, that experience had sent his thoughts off on a long jaunt wondering if he could have ever mastered the animagus transformation had he waited until later in life to attempt it. It was, in theory, entirely possible that an activated incubus gene would have prevented it. After all, it wasn’t like Moony could transform; his curse seemed to forbid it.

Harry had, just a few minutes ago, been downstairs in the guise of a fairly young man, barely a teenager really, hysterical and barely able to speak properly. And he had, naturally, seemingly run off in abject fear the moment no one was paying close enough attention to prevent his escape.

Therefore, he was pleased to note that the owner of the establishment (a dodgy sort of inn that rented rooms by the hour and was well known in the black market circles) burst through the door and paled drastically. The man stumbled back out, hovering in the door frame, and yelled, “Belinda! Belinda, get your ass up here now!”

The thud of hurried footsteps sounded through the door, though from his vantage Harry could not see the girl who arrived. And judging on how the man was standing he doubted she could see inside. “Belinda, I don’t bloody well know what to do.”

“Let me see!” she demanded, then roughly pushed him aside. Harry could finally see her when she took the man’s place in the door. Whatever else she might be, the open-mouthed shock did nothing for her looks. “Oh, Merlin,” she breathed. “Why on earth did you rent him a room? We’ll go out of business due to this.”

“I didn’t!” the man protested in a shrill voice.

And by then Harry could hear the sound of people gathering in the hallway, trying to figure out what was causing the ruckus. One of them was bold enough to duck down to peek under Belinda’s arm and gasp in shock, then disappear. Realistically, it did not take long before the pride of the Daily Prophet barged her way in, cameraman at the ready, to capture the moment in both prose and picture.

Albus Dumbledore sat there in all his sunshiny glory, soon to take over the front page news. He knew exactly what could end up in that paper, though it remained to be seen if Skeeter could push past any objections to write the whole truth of the situation, no matter how contrived that situation was.

Dumbledore, on examination, would be found to have a lemon yellow butt plug snug in his ass, one that would vibrate on command in order to stimulate the prostate. That, at least, was presently hidden by his position and scant clothing, but anyone could see the cheerful yellow ribbons and bows woven into and attached to braids in both his hair and beard.

Perched atop his head was a smart little cap of jonquil yellow silk (not so incidentally hiding the gaping hole in it, though were one to check they would notice his skull had been filled with sherbet lemons in a macabre twist on a candy dish), and clamped to his aged nipples were a set of anodized yellow aluminium clamps, from which dangled silver chains laden with citrines.

Clothing the man was a robe of a much darker yellow, though that was all he wore that could actually be classified as clothes, and the decadent sueded silk was shot through with strands of real gold. And were one to look beneath the glitter, a sparkly set of ladies underpants might be seen, complete with garters and attached stockings.

However, the truly damning evidence was what sat on the table in front of a Dumbledore who appeared to have died in ecstasy (which might explain the odd, milky white substance decorating his stomach and chest), that clearly being a pensieve.

Had he been able to Harry would have smirked considering the contents of that particular device, and wondered just how many people would believe that Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Light, had quite a penchant for underage boys being restrained and buggered by older men. In point of fact, it was amazing what one could accomplish with the odd glamour and a vivid imagination.

Rita Skeeter was in her element.

* * *

“Should I be concerned with how much you enjoyed that?” Voldemort asked archly, idly stroking his hand up and down Harry’s flank.

His mate gave him a sweetly innocent smile. “I certainly enjoyed creating those memories. You are such a wicked man, my Lord Voldemort. I find myself quite captivated by you.”

Voldemort snorted in amusement and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mate’s mouth. “Then the feeling is mutual, my sweet.”

And indeed, breakfast (of the type where food was consumed, not pleasure) revealed a delightful article showing Rita at her scandalous best as she showcased the very improper circumstances in which Albus Dumbledore was finally found.

Granted, she did, to her credit (or was that detriment?) also faithfully report that she had gained access to some very telling medical information gleaned from St Mungo’s, and the readership of the Daily Prophet had duly been informed of the oddities involving the man’s head and backside, but that was barely a side note in the grander scheme of things.

Trips to Diagon Alley, the Ministry, and even Hogsmeade showed that members of the wizarding community were shocked, scandalized, and for some, terrified out of what minds they could lay claim to at the death of such a noteworthy man. It could not be said that everyone fell for it. After all, it would have shown up the magical population for complete imbeciles were that the case.

However, plenty did believe that Dumbledore was, in fact, a pederast at best, and many speculated on his relationship with one Harry Potter while that boy was still attending Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that did lead to questions about his whereabouts, and even if he was a party to the tragedy.

Some, though, wondered if Severus Snape had faked his own death and really was an agent of You Know Who, and if he was responsible for this attack on decent society. Voldemort and Harry spent quite a bit of time laughing as they strolled along, eavesdropping on people wherever possible, eventually ending up back at home.

“So,” Voldemort said quietly, “about Fudge.”

Harry’s face lit up. “I can kill him now?”

“I think so. We can see who gets dredged up as candidates for the new Minister and tinker with them behind the scenes, love. And I have my suspicions as to a few likely candidates already.”

“Brilliant,” Harry breathed. “I’ll start making plans, then, shall I?”

* * *

It was (all things considered) an odd time for the Ministry to be having a formal dinner for its employees and trusted members of the community. It was even more peculiar if one understood that both Harry and Voldemort had weaseled their way onto the guest list. Granted, this particular gathering had been arranged prior to Fudge’s disappearance.

Voldemort and Harry were sitting at a small table, a few charms swirling around them ensure their privacy, plus one to transfer the contents of Harry’s glass of wine to his lover’s sip by sip each time he pretended to drink. Lucius and Narcissa had left them a short time ago, heading onward to mingle with the masses and sit at one of the more showy tables in terms of political influence.

He looked over at his beloved and smiled faintly, had a sip of wine, then said, “I think I need not ask what amuses you this time.”

Harry shook his head. “Such an ignoble way to go,” he commented, then pretended to drink.

Among those in the Dark Army, marked or not, there was only one rule for those attending—avoid pork products at any and all costs. And pork there was, quite a lot, having mysteriously made its way onto the menu for the evening in more ways than one.

“It was his wife that gave me the idea, actually,” Harry added with a slight grin. “Remind me to send her a card?”

Voldemort nodded his acquiescence and glanced around casually before saying, “Perhaps when we get home we can reopen negotiations on the subject of children.”

Harry’s answering smile, for all that it was not his true face, was blinding.

* * *

Snapshots not directly associated with any chapter: [Service Ends](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205230), [Deal With the Devil](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205233), [Care](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205234), [Insidious](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660835/chapters/1205236)


End file.
